M13TRE5.5 
NELL 

A -MERRY 


TRLE-OF-A 

MERRY 

TINE 


o°o         f 


1902 


LIBRARY 

1  HE? 

1             GMJrO 

1      SAN  0 

CAUVORNIA 

*K^AN  blEGO 
WV.F       f                  ) 

RNIA 

I  EGO       J 

MISTRESS     NELL 


NELL   GWYN 

FROM    AN    ENGRAVING    OF    THE 
PAINTING   T?V   SIR   PETER   I.ELY 


r/     z  H^?  /  O 


MISTRESS    NELL 

A  MERRY  TALE  OF  A 
MERRY  TIME 

('Twixt  Faft  and  Fancy) 


BY  GEORGE  C.  HAZELTON,  JR. 

Author  of  the  Play 


"  Let  not  poor  Nelly  starve" 


NEW  YORK:  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Copyright,  1901,  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
All  rights  reserved 


D.  B.  Updike,  The  Merrymount  Press,  Boston 


========** 

A     WORD 

IT  is  the  vogue  to  dramatize  successful  novels. 
The  author  of  the  present  Nell  Gwy  n  story 
has  pursued  the  contrary  course.  His  "merry" 
play  of  the  same  name  was  written  and  produced 
before  he  undertook  to  compose  this  tale,  sug 
gested  by  the  same  historic  sources. 

A  word  of  tribute  is  gratefully  given  to  the 
comedienne,  Miss  Crosman,  whose  courage  and 
exquisite  art  introduced  the  "Mistress  Nell" 
of  the  play  to  the  public. 


Contents 

CHAPTERX  1 68 

Arrest  him  yourself! 

CHAPTER    XI  182 

In  the  field)  men;  at  court ',  women! 

CHAPTER     XII  195 

Beau  Adair  is  my  name. 

CHAPTER     XIII  232 

For  the  glory  of  England? 

CHAPTER     XIV  240 

He  loves  me!  He  loves  me! 

CHAPTER    XV  259 

/  come,  my  love;  I  come. 

CHAPTER     XVI  276 

Ods-pitikins,  my  own  reflection! 

CHAPTER    XVII  290 

The  day  will  be  so  happy ;  for  I  've  seen  you  at 
the  dawn. 


[    Viii    ] 


MISTRESS     NELL 

A     MERRY     TALE     OF    A 
MERRY     TIME 


MISTRESS     NELL 


"  And  once  Nell  Gwyn,  a  frail  young  sprite^ 

Looked  kindly  when  I  met  her; 
I  shook  my  head  perhaps  —  but  quite 
Forgot  to  quite  forget  her" 

AT  was  a  merry  time  in  merry  old  Eng 
land;  for  King  Charles  II.  was  on  the 
throne. 

Not  that  the  wines  were  better  or  the 
ladies  fairer  in  his  day,  but  the  renaissance 
of  carelessness  and  good-living  had  set 
in.  True  Roundheads  again  sought  quiet 
abodes  in  which  to  worship  in  their  gray 
and  sombre  way.  Cromwell,  their  un 
crowned  king,  was  dead;  and  there  was 
no  place  for  his  followers  at  court  or  in 
tavern.  Even  the  austere  and  Catholic 
smile  of  brother  James  of  York,  one  day 
to  be  the  ruler  of  the  land,  could  not  cast 
a  gloom  over  the  assemblies  at  Whitehall. 
There  were  those  to  laugh  merrily  at  the 


Mistress  Nell 


King's  wit,  and  at  the  players'  wit.  There 
were  those  in  abundance  to  enjoy  to-day 
—  to-day  only,  —  to  drink  to  the  glori 
ous  joys  of  to-day,  with  no  care  for  the 
morrow. 

It  was,  indeed,  merry  old  England;  for, 
when  the  King  has  no  cares,  and  assumes 
no  cares,  the  people  likewise  have  no  cares. 
The  state  may  be  rent,  the  court  a  nest  of 
intrigue,  King  and  Parliament  at  odds,  the 
treasury  bankrupt:  but  what  care  they; 
for  the  King  cares  not.  Is  not  the  day 
prosperous?  Are  not  the  taverns  in  remot 
est  London  rilled  with  roistering  spirits 
who  drink  and  sing  to  their  hearts'  con 
tent  of  their  deeds  in  the  wars  just  done? 
Can  they  not  steal  when  hungry  and  de 
mand  when  dry? 

Aye,  the  worldly  ones  are  cavaliers  now 
— for  a  cavalier  is  King — e'en  though  the 
sword  once  followed  Cromwell  and  the 
gay  cloak  and  the  big  flying  plume  do 
not  quite  hide  the  not-yet-discarded  cui 
rass  of  an  Ironside. 

Cockpits  and  theatres!  It  is  the  Res 
toration  !  The  maypole  is  up  again  at  May- 


A  Merry  T'ale  of  a  Merry  Time 

pole  Lane,  and  the  milk-maids  bedecked 
with  garlands  dance  to  the  tunes  of  the 
fiddle.  Boys  no  longer  serve  for  heroines  at 
the  play,  as  was  the  misfortune  in  Shake 
speare's  day.  The  air  is  full  of  hilarity  and 
joy. 

Let  us  too  for  a  little  hour  forget  re 
sponsibility  and  fall  in  with  the  spirit  of 
the  times;  while  we  tipple  and  toast,  and 
vainly  boast:  "The  King!  Long  live  the 
King!" 

Old  Drury  Lane  was  alive  as  the  sun 
was  setting,  on  the  day  of  our  visit-  to 
London  Town,  with  loungers  and  loafers; 
busy-bodies  and  hawkers;  traffickers  of 
sweets  and  other  petty  wares;  swagger 
ing  soldiers,  roistering  by,  stopping  for 
sooth  to  throw  kisses  to  inviting  eyes  at 
the  windows  above. 

As  we  turn  into  Little  Russell  Street 
from  the  Lane,  passing  many  chairs  richly 
made,  awaiting  their  fair  occupants,  we 
come  upon  the  main  entrance  to  the 
King's  House.  Not  an  imposing  or  spa 
cious  structure  to  be  sure,  it  nevertheless 
was  suited  to  the  managerial  purposes  of 

[  3  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


the  day,  which  were,  as  now,  to  spend  as 
little  and  get  as  much  as  may  be.  The  pit 
was  barely  protected  from  the  weather  by 
a  glazed  cupola ;  so  that  the  audience  could 
not  always  hear  the  sweetest  song  to  a  fin 
ish  without  a  drenching,  or  dwell  upon 
the  shapeliness  of  the  prettiest  ankle,  that 
revealed  itself  in  the  dance  by  means  of 
candles  set  on  cressets,  which  in  those  days 
sadly  served  the  purposes  of  foot-lights. 

It  was  Dryden's  night.  His  play  was  on 
—  "The  Conquest  of  Granada."  The  best 
of  London  were  there;  for  a  first  night 
then  was  as  attractive  as  a  first  night  now. 
In  the  balcony  were  draped  boxes,  in 
which  lovely  gowns  were  seen  —  lovely 
hair  and  lovely  gems;  but  the  fair  faces 
were  often  masked. 

The  King  sat  listless  in  the  royal  box, 
watching  the  people  and  the  play  or  pass 
ing  pretty  compliments  with  the  fair  fa 
vourites  by  his  side,  diverted,  perchance, 
by  the  ill-begotten  quarrel  of  some  fellow 
with  a  saucy  orange-wench  over  the  cost 
of  her  golden  wares.  The  true  gallants  pre 
ferred  being  robbed  to  haggling — for  the 
shame  of  it.  [  4  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

A  knowing  one  in  the  crowd  was  heard 
to  say:  "'Tis  Castlemaine  to  the  King's 
left." 

"  No,  't  is  Madame  Carwell ;  curse  her," 
snarled  a  more  vulgar  companion. 

"  Madame  Querouaille,  knave,  Duch 
ess  of  Portsmouth,"  irritably  exclaimed 
a  handsome  gallant,  himself  stumbling 
somewhat  over  the  French  name,  though 
making  a  bold  play  for  it,  as  he  passed 
toward  his  box,  pushing  the  fellow  aside. 
He  added  a  moment  later,  but  so  that  no 
one  heard : "  Portsmouth  is  far  from  here." 

It  was  the  Duke  of  Buckingham — the 
great  Duke  of  Buckingham,  in  the  pit  of 
the  King's  House!  Truly,  we  see  strange 
things  in  these  strange  times!  Indeed, 
William  Penn  himself  did  not  hesitate 
to  gossip  with  the  orange-wenches,  unless 
Pepys  lied  —  and  Pepys  never  lied. 

"  What  said  he  ? "  asked  a  stander-by, 
a  butcher,  who,  with  apron  on  and  sleeves 
to  elbow,  had  hastily  left  his  stall  at  one  of 
the  afternoon  and  still  stood  with  mouth 
agape  and  ringers  widespread  waiting  for 
the  play.  Before,  however,  his  sooty  com- 

[  5  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


panion  could  answer,  they  were  jostled  far 
apart. 

The  crowd  struggled  for  places  in  eager 
expectation,  amid  banter  none  too  virtu 
ous,  whistlings  and  jostlings.  The  time  for 
the  play  had  arrived. "  Nell !  Nell !  Nell ! " 
was  on  every  lip. 

And  who  was  "Nell"? 

From  amidst  the  players,  lords  and  cox 
combs  crowded  on  the  stage  stepped  forth 
Nell  Gwyn  —  the  prettiest  rogue  in  merry 
England. 

A  cheer  went  up  from  every  throat; 
for  the  little  vixen  who  stood  before  them 
had  long  reigned  in  the  hearts  of  Drury 
Lane  and  the  habitues  of  the  King's 
House. 

Yea,  all  eyes  were  upon  the  pretty, 
witty  Nell;  the  one-time  orange-girl; 
now  queen  of  the  theatre,  and  the  idol 
of  the  Lane.  Her  curls  were  flowing  and 
her  big  eyes  dancing  beneath  a  huge  hat 
—  more,  indeed,  a  canopy  than  a  hat — 
so  large  that  the  audience  screamed  with 
delight  at  the  incongruity  of  it  and  the 
pretty  face  beneath. 

[6] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

This  pace  in  foolery  had  been  set  at  the 
Duke's  House,  but  Nell  out-did  them, 
with  her  broad-brimmed  hat  as  large  as 
a  cart-wheel  and  her  quaint  waist-belt; 
for  was  not  her  hat  larger  by  half  than 
that  at  the  rival  house  and  her  waist-belt 
quainter? 

As  she  came  forward  to  speak  the  pro 
logue,  her  laugh  too  was  merrier  and  more 
roguish: 

"  'This  jest  was  first  of  the  other  house's  making, 
And,  five  times  tried,  has  never  fail' d  of  taking ; 

This  is  that  hat,  whose  very  sight  did  win  ye 
To  laugh  and  clap  as  though  the  devil  were  in  ye. 

I'll  write  a  play,  says  one,  for  I  have  got 
A  broad-brimmed  hat,  and  waist-belt,  towards 

a  plot. 

Says  the  other,  I  have  one  more  large  than  that, 
Thus  they  out-write  each  other  with  a  hat! 
The  brims  still  grew  with  every  play  they  writ; 
And  grew  so  large,  they  cover' d  all  the  wit. 
Hat  was  the  play ;  '/  was  language,  wit,  and 

tale : 
Like  them  that  find  meat,  drink,  and  cloth  in  ale." 

[7] 


Mistress  Nell 


The  King  leaned  well  out  over  the  box- 
rail,  his  dark  eyes  intent  upon  Nell's  face. 

A  fair  hand,  however,  was  placed  im 
patiently  upon  his  shoulder  and  drew  him 
gently  back.  "Lest  you  fall,  my  liege." 

"Thanks,  Castlemaine,"  he  replied, 
kindly  but  knowingly.  "  You  are  always 
thoughtful." 

The  play  went  on.  The  aclors  came  and 
went.  Hart  appeared  in  Oriental  robes  as 
Almanzor — a  dress  which  mayhap  had 
served  its  purposes  for  Othello,  and  may 
hap  had  not;  for  cast-off  court-dresses, 
without  regard  to  fitness,  were  the  players' 
favourite  costumes  in  those  days,  the  rich 
ness  more  than  the  style  mattering. 

With  mighty  force,  he  read  from  the 
centre  of  the  stage,  with  elocution  true 
and  syllable  precise,  Dryden's  ponderous 
lines.  The  King  nodded  approvingly  to 
the  poet.  The  poet  glowed  with  pride  at 
the  patronage  of  the  King.  The  old-time 
audience  were  enchanted.  Dryden  sat  with 
a  triumphant  smile  as  he  dwelt  upon  his 
poetic  lines  and  heard  the  cherished  syl 
lables  receive  rounds  of  applause  from  the 
Londoners.  [81 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Was  it  the  thought,  dear  Dryden;  or 
was  it  Nell's  pretty  ways  that  bewitched 
the  most  of  it?  Nell's  laugh  still  echoes  in 
the  world;  but  where  are  your  plays,  dear 
Dryden? 


CHAPTER     II 


It  ';  near  your  cue.  Mistress  Nell! 


Jl  HE  greenroom  of  the  King's  House 
was  scarcely  a  prepossessing  place  or  in 
viting.  A  door  led  to  the  stage;  another 
to  the  street.  On  the  remaining  doors 
might  have  been  deciphered  from  the  Old 
English  of  a  scene-artist's  daub  "Mistress 
Gwyn"  and  "Mr.  Hart."  These  doors 
led  respectively  to  the  tiring-room  of  the 
sweet  sprite  who  had  but  now  set  the  pit 
wild  with  a  hat  over  a  sparkling  eye  and 
to  that  of  the  actor-manager  of  the  House. 
A  rough  table,  a  few  chairs,  a  mirror 
which  had  evidently  seen  better  days  in 
some  grand  mansion  and  a  large  throne- 
chair  which  might  equally  well  have  sat 
isfied  the  royalty  of  Macbeth  or  Chris 
topher  Sly  —  its  royalty,  forsooth,  being 
in  its  size,  for  thus  only  could  it  lord-it 
over  its  mates  —  stood  in  the  corner.  Old 
armour  hung  upon  the  wall,  grim  in  the 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

light  of  candles  fixed  in  braziers.  Rushes 
were  strewn  about  the  floor. 

Ah!  Pepys,  Pepys,  was  it  here  that 
you  recalled  "specially  kissing  of  Nell"  ? 
Mayhap;  for  we  read  in  your  book:  "I 
kissed  her,  and  so  did  my  wife,  and  a 
mighty  pretty  soul  she  is."  Be  that  as 
it  may,  however,  you  must  have  found 
Nell's  lips  very  agreeable;  for  a  great  wit 
has  suggested  that  it  was  well  that  Mrs. 
Pepys  was  present  on  the  occasion. 

On  great  play-nights,  however,  this 
most  unroyal  room  assumed  the  propor 
tions  of  royalty.  Gallants  and  even  lords 
sought  entrance  here  and  elbowed  their 
way  about;  and  none  dared  say  them  nay. 
They  forced  a  way  even  upon  the  stage 
during  the  play,  though  not  so  commonly 
as  before  the  Restoration,  yet  still  too 
much;  and  the  players  played  as  best  they 
could,  and  where  best  they  could.  Billets- 
doux  passed,  sweet  words  were  said,  —  all 
in  this  dilapidated,  unpretentious,  candle- 
lighted  room. 

At  the  moment  of  which  we  speak,  the 
greenroom  was  deserted  save  for  a  lad  of 


Mistress  Nell 


twelve  or  fourteen  years,  who  stood  before 
the  mirror,  posing  to  his  personal  satis 
faction  and  occasionally  delivering  bits 
from  "  Hamlet."  He  was  none  other  than 
"  Dick,"  the  call-boy  of  the  King's  House. 

The  lad  struck  a  final  attitude,  his  brow 
clouded.  He  assumed  what  seemed  to  him 
the  proper  pose  for  the  royal  Dane.  His 
meditations  and  his  pose,  however,  were 
broken  in  upon  by  the  sudden  entrance 
of  Manager  Hart,  flushed  and  in  an  un 
usual  state  of  excitement. 

"Where  is  my  dagger,  Dick?"  he  ex 
claimed,  pacing  the  room. 

The  boy  came  to  himself  but  slowly. 

"What  are  you  doing?  Get  my  dag 
ger,  boy,"  wildly  reiterated  the  irate  man 
ager.  "  Don't  you  see  there  will  be  a  stage- 
wait?"  He  cast  an  anxious  glance  in  the 
direction  of  the  door  which  led  to  the 
stage. 

"Where  did  you  leave  it,  sir?"  asked 
the  lad,  finally  realizing  that  it  would  be 
wise  not  to  trifle  at  such  a  time. 

"Never  mind  where  I  left  it.  Get  it, 
get  it;  do  you  hear!  Nell 's  on  the  stage 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

already."  Hart  rushed  to  the  door  and 
looked  off  in  an  increasing  state  of  ex 
citement. 

"  Why,  you  Ve  got  your  dagger  on, 
sir,"  hesitatingly  suggested  the  lad,  as  he 
caught  the  gleam  of  a  small  scimiter 
among  the  folds  of  Almanzor's  tunic. 

Hart's  face  flushed. 

"Devil  take  you,  boy,"  he  exclaimed; 
"  you  are  too  stupid  ever  to  make  an  ac 
tor!" 

With  this  speech,  the  manager  strode 
out  of  the  greenroom  toward  the  stage. 

Poor  Dick  sank  back  in  an  attitude  of 
resignation.  "  How  long,  O  Rome,  must 
I  endure  this  bondage?"  he  said,  sadly. 

He  again  observed  his  boyish  figure 
in  the  mirror,  and  the  pretty  face  bright 
ened  as  he  realized  that  there  might  still 
be  hope  in  life,  despite  Manager  Hart's 
assertion  that  he  would  never  be  able  to 
a<5t.  His  features  slowly  sank  into  a  set 
expression  of  tremendous  gloom,  such  as 
he  thought  should  characterize  his  con 
ception  of  himself  as  Hamlet  when  in 
days  to  come  the  mantles  of  Burbage  and 

[  '3  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


of  Betterton  should  be  his  and  Manager 
Hart  must  bow  to  him.  He  stood  trans 
fixed  before  the  glass  in  a  day-dream,  for 
getful  of  his  ills.  His  pretty  lips  moved, 
and  one  close  by  might  have  heard  again, 
"To  be  or  not  to  be"  in  well-modulated 
phrase. 

"Ah,  boy;  here!" 

Dick  started. 

It  was  a  richly  dressed  gallant,  in  old- 
rose  with  royal  orders,  who  had  entered 
the  room  quietly  but  authoritatively  from 
the  street  —  the  same  lordly  personage 
we  observed  in  the  pit.  His  manner  was 
that  of  one  accustomed  to  be  obeyed  and 
quickly  too.  The  lad  knew  him  and  bowed 
low. 

"Tell  Mistress  Nell,  Buckingham 
would  speak  with  her.  Lively,  lad; 
lively,"  he  said. 

"  She  is  on  the  stage,  my  lord,"  re 
plied  Dick,  respectfully. 

"  Gad,  I  thought  otherwise  and  stepped 
about  from  my  box.  Here;  put  these 
flowers  in  her  tiring-room." 

The  boy  took  the  beautiful  bouquet 

[   H  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

of  white  roses.  "Yes,  my  lord,"  he  re 
plied,  and  turned  to  do  the  bidding. 

"Flowers  strewn  in  ladies'  ways  oft' 
lead  to  princely  favours,"  muttered  his 
lordship,  thoughtfully,  as  he  removed  his 
gloves  and  vainly  adjusted  his  hat  and 
sword.  "  Portsmouth  at  Dover  told  me 
that." 

It  was  apparent  from  his  face  that 
much  passed  before  his  mind,  in  that 
little  second,  of  days  when,  at  Dover 
Castle  not  long  since,  he  had  been  a  part 
—  and  no  small  part — of  the  intrigue 
well  planned  by  Louis  of  France,  and 
well  executed  by  the  Duchess  of  Orleans 
assisted  by  the  fair  Louise,  now  Duchess 
of  Portsmouth,  in  which  his  own  purse 
and  power  had  waxed  mightily.  What 
ever  his  lordship  thought,  however,  it 
was  gone  like  the  panorama  before  a 
drowning  brain. 

He  stopped  the  lad  as  he  was  entering 
Nell's  tiring-room,  with  an  exclamation. 
The  boy  returned. 

"You  gave  Mistress  Nell  my  note  bid 
ding  her  to  supper?"  he  asked,  question- 
ingly.  [  15  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"I  did,  my  lord,"  answered  Dick. 

"'Sheart,  a  madrigal  worthy  of  Bac 
chus!  She  smiled  delightedly?"  contin 
ued  his  lordship,  in  a  jocular  mood. 

"No,  my  lord;  quite  serious." 

His  lordship's  face  changed  slightly. 
"Read  it  eagerly?"  he  ventured,  where 
he  might  have  commanded,  further  to 
draw  out  the  lad. 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  added  Dick,  respect 
fully,  "after  a  time."  The  boy's  lids 
dropped  to  avoid  revealing  his  amused 
recollection  of  the  incident;  and  his  lord 
ship's  quick  eye  noted  it. 

"Good!"  he  exclaimed,  with  an  as 
sumed  triumphant  air.  "She  folded  it 
carefully  and  placed  it  in  her  bosom  next 
her  heart?  " 

"She  threw  it  on  the  floor,  my  lord!" 
meekly  answered  Dick,  hiding  his  face 
in  the  flowers  to  avoid  revealing  disre 
spect. 

"My  billet-doux  upon  the  floor!"  an 
grily  exclaimed  his  lordship.  "  Plague 
on't,  she  said  something,  made  some  an 
swer,  boy?"  The  diplomat  was  growing 

[  16  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

earnest  despite  himself,  as  diplomats  often 
do  in  the  cause  of  women. 

Dick  trembled. 

"She  said  your  dinners  made  amends 
for  your  company,  my  lord,"  he  said, 
meekly. 

Buckingham's  eyes  snapped;  but  he 
was  too  clever  to  reveal  his  feelings  fur 
ther  to  a  call-boy,  whom  he  dismissed 
with  a  wave  of  the  hand.  He  then  swag 
gered  to  the  table  and  complacently  ex 
claimed:  "The  rogue!  Nelly,  Nelly,  your 
lips  shall  pay  tribute  for  that.  Rosy  im 
pudence!  Buckingham's  dinners  make 
amends  for  his  company?  Minx!"  He 
threw  himself  into  a  chair,  filled  with 
deep  reflections  of  supper  and  wine,  wit 
and  beauty,  rather  than  state-craft. 

Thus  lost  in  selfish  reflection,  he  did 
not  observe,  or,  if  he  did,  cared  not  for, 
the  frail  figure  and  sweet  face  of  one  who 
cautiously  tiptoed  into  the  greenroom. 
It  was  Orange  Moll,  whose  sad  counte 
nance  and  tattered  garments  betokened 
a  sadder  story.  Her  place  was  in  the  pit, 
with  her  back  to  the  stage,  vending  her 

[  '7  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


oranges  to  artisans,  girls  with  vizards  or 
foolish  gallants.  She  had  no  right  behind 
the  scenes. 

"  I  am  'most  afraid  to  enter  here  with 
out  Nell,"  she  thought,  faint-heartedly,  as 
she  glanced  about  the  room  and  her  eyes 
fell  upon  the  great  Lord  Buckingham. 

"  Oranges?  Will  you  have  my  oranges? 
Only  sixpence,  my  lord,"  she  ventured  at 
length,  then  hesitatingly  advanced  and 
offered  her  wares;  but  his  lordship's 
thoughts  were  far  away. 

"  What  shall  we  have  for  supper? "  was 
his  sole  concern.  "  I  think  Nelly  would 
like  spiced  tongue."  Instantly  his  hands 
and  eyes  were  raised  in  mock  invocation 
of  the  intervention  of  the  Powers  that 
Be,  and  so  suddenly  that  Moll  drew  back. 
"Ye  Gods,"  he  exclaimed  aloud,  "she 
has  enough  of  that  already!  Ah,  the 
vintage  of — " 

It  was  more  habit  than  courage  which 
brought  to  Moll's  trembling  lips  the 
familiar  orange-cry,  which  again  inter 
rupted  him:  "Oranges;  only  sixpence. 
Here  is  one  picked  for  you,  my  lord." 
[  '8  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Buckingham's  eyes  flashed  with  anger; 
he  was  not  wont  to  have  his  way,  much 
less  his  pleasure,  disturbed  by  the  lowly. 
"  Oh,  hang  you,  you  disturb  me.  I  am 
thinking;  don't  you  perceive  I  am  think 
ing?  Begone!" 

"Only  sixpence,  my  lord;  I  have  not 
sold  one  to-night,"  pleaded  the  girl,  sadly. 

His  lordship  rose  irritably.  "  I  have  no 
pauper's  pence,"  he  exclaimed.  "Out  of 
my  way!  Ragbag!"  He  pushed  the  girl 
roughly  aside  and  crossed  the  room. 

At  the  same  instant,  there  was  confu 
sion  at  the  stage-door,  the  climax  of 
which  was  the  re-entrance  of  Hart  into 
the  greenroom. 

"  How  can  a  man  play  when  he  trem 
bles  for  his  life  lest  he  step  upon  a  lord?" 
cried  the  angry  manager.  "They  should 
be  horsewhipped  off  the  stage,  and  "  —  his 
eyes  falling  upon  Buckingham — "out  of 
the  greenroom." 

"Ah,  Hart,"  began  his  lordship,  with 
a  patronizing  air,  "  why  is  Nelly  so  long? 
I  desire  to  see  her." 

Hart's  lips  trembled,  but  he  controlled 

[   '9  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


his  passion.  "Indeed?  His  Majesty  and 
the  good  folk  in  front  would  doubtless 
gladly  await  your  interview  with  Mis 
tress  Eleanor  Gwyn.  Shall  I  announce 
your  will,  my  lord,  unto  his  Majesty  and 
stop  the  play?" 

"You  grow  ironical,  friend  Hart,"  re 
plied  his  lordship. 

"Not  so,"  said  the  aftor,  bowing  low; 
"  I  am  your  lordship's  most  obedient  ser 
vant." 

Buckingham's  lip  curled  and  his  eyes 
revealed  that  he  would  have  said  more, 
but  the  room  was  meantime  filling  with 
players  from  the  stage,  some  exchanging 
compliments,  some  strutting  before  the 
glass,  and  he  would  not  so  degrade  his 
dignity  before  them.  Dick,  foil  in  hand 
even  in  the  manager's  room,  was  testing 
the  steel's  strength  to  his  utmost,  in  boy 
ish  fashion. 

This  confusion  lent  Moll  courage,  and 
forth  came  again  the  cry  :  "  Oranges  ? 
Will  you  have  my  oranges?  Only  six 
pence,  sir." 

She  boldly  offered  her  wares  to  Al- 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

manzor,  but  started  and  paled  when  the 
hero  turned  and  revealed  Manager  Hart. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  you  little 
imp  ?  Back  to  the  pit,  where  you  be 
long."  The  manager's  voice  was  full  of 
meaning. 

"  Nell  told  me  I  might  come  here,  sir," 
said  the  girl,  faintly  excusing  herself. 

Hart's  temper  got  the  better  of  him. 
To  admit  before  all  that  Nell  ruled  the 
theatre  was  an  affront  to  his  managerial 
dignity  which  he  could  not  brook. 

"Oh,  Nell  did,  did  she?"  he  almost 
shrieked,  as  he  angrily  paced  the  room 
like  some  caged  beast,  gesticulating 
wildly. 

The  aclors  gathered  in  groups  and 
looked  askant. 

"Gadso,"  he  continued,  "who  is  man 
ager,  I  should  like  to  know!  Nell  would 
introduce  her  whole  trade  here  if  she 
could.  Every  orange-peddler  in  London 
will  set  up  a  stand  in  the  greenroom  at 
the  King's,  next  we  know.  Out  with  you! 
This  is  a  temple  of  art,  not  a  market 
place.  Out  with  you!" 

[    21    ] 


Mistress  Nell 


He  seized  Moll  roughly  in  his  anger 
and  almost  hurled  her  out  at  the  door. 
He  would  have  done  so,  indeed,  had  not 
Nell  entered  at  this  moment  from  the 
stage.  Her  eye  caught  the  situation  at  a 
glance. 

"Oh,  blood,  lago,  blood!"  she  ex 
claimed,  mock-heroically,  then  burst 
into  the  merriest  laugh  that  one  could 
care  to  hear.  "  How  now,  a  tragedy  in 
the  greenroom!  What  lamb  is  being  sac 
rificed?" 

Hart  stood  confused;  the  players  whis 
pered  in  expectation ;  and  an  amused  smile 
played  upon  the  featuresof  my  Lord  Buck 
ingham  at  the  manager's  discomfiture. 
Finally  Hart  found  his  tongue. 

"An  old  comrade  of  yours  at  orange- 
vending  before  you  lost  the  art  of  acting," 
he  suggested,  with  a  glance  at  Moll. 

"By  association  with  you,  Jack?"  re 
plied  the  witch  of  the  theatre  in  a  way 
which  bespoke  more  answers  that  wis 
dom  best  not  bring  forth. 

Nell's  whole  heart  went  out  to  the  sub 
ject  of  the  controversy.  Poor  little  tattered 

[    22    ] 


A  Merry  T'ale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Orange  Moll!  She  was  carried  back  in  an 
instant  to  her  own  bitter  life  and  bitter 
struggles  when  an  orange-girl.  Throwing 
an  arm  about  the  child,  she  kissed  away 
the  tears  with,  "  What  is  the  matter,  dear 
Moll?" 

"They  are  all  mocking  me,  and  sent 
me  back  to  the  pit,"  replied  the  girl,  hys 
terically. 

"  Shame  on  you  all," said  Nell;  and  the 
eyes  that  were  so  full  of  comedy  revealed 
tragic  fire. 

"  Fy,  fy,"  pleaded  Hart;  "  I  '11  be  char 
itable  to-morrow,  Nell,  after  this  strain 
is  off — but  a  first  night — " 

"You  need  charity  yourself?"  sug 
gested  Nell;  and  she  burst  into  a  merry 
laugh,  in  which  many  joined. 

Buckingham  instantly  took  up  the 
gauntlet  for  a  bold  play,  for  a  coup  d'etat 
in  flattery.  "Pshaw!"  he  cried,  waving 
aside  the  players  in  a  princely  fashion. 
"When  Nell  plays,  we  have  no  time  to 
munch  oranges.  Let  the  wench  bawl  in 
the  street." 

Poor  Moll's  tears,  flowed  again  with 


Mistress  Nell 


each  harsh  word.  Nell  was  not  so  easily 
affected. 

"  Odso,  my  lord !  It  is  a  pity  your  lord 
ship  is  not  a  player.  Then  the  orange-trade 
would  flourish,"  she  said. 

Buckingham  bowed,  amused  and  cu 
rious.  "Say  you  so,  i'  faith!  Pray,  why, 
mad  minx?" 

"Your  lordship  would  make  such  a 
good  mark  for  the  peel,"  retorted  Nell, 
tossing  a  bit  of  orange-peel  in  his  face,  to 
the  infinite  delight  of  Hart  and  his  fellow- 
players. 

"Devil!"  angrily  exclaimed  his  lord 
ship  as  he  realized  the  insult.  "  I  would 
kill  a  man  for  this;  a  woman,  I  can  only 
love."  His  hand  left  his  sword-hilt;  and 
he  bowed  low  to  the  vixen  of  the  theatre, 
picked  from  the  floor  the  bit  of  peel 
which  had  fallen,  kissed  it,  tossed  it  over 
his  shoulder  and  turned  away. 

Nell  was  not  done,  however;  her  re 
venge  was  incomplete.  "There!  dry  your 
eyes,  Moll,"  she  exclaimed.  "Give  me 
your  basket,  child.  You  shall  be  avenged 
still  further." 

[  24] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

The  greenroom  had  now  filled  from 
the  stage  and  the  tiring-rooms;  and  all 
gathered  gleefully  about  to  see  what  next 
the  impish  Nell  would  do,  for  avenged 
she  would  be  they  all  knew,  though  the 
course  of  her  vengeance  none  could 
guess. 

The  manager,  catching  at  the  probable 
outcome  when  Nell  seized  from  Moll's 
trembling  arm  the  basket  heaped  with 
golden  fruit,  gave  the  first  warning: 
"Great  Heavens!  Flee  for  your  lives!  I' 
faith,  here  comes  the  veteran  robber  at 
such  traffic." 

There  was  a  sudden  rush  for  the  stage, 
but  Nell  cried:  "Guard  the  door,  Moll; 
don't  let  a  rascal  out.  I'll  do  the  rest." 

It  was  not  Moll's  strength,  however, 
which  kept  the  greenroom  filled,  but  ex- 
peclation  of  Nell.  All  gathered  about  with 
the  suspense  of  a  drama;  for  Nell  herself 
was  a  whole  play  as  she  stood  in  the  centre 
of  that  little  group  of  lords  and  players, 
dressed  for  Almahyde,  Dryden's  heroine, 
with  a  basket  of  oranges  on  her  dimpled 
arm.  What  a  pretty  picture  she  was  too  — 

[  25  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


prettier  here  even  than  on  the  stage!  The 
nearer,  the  prettier  !  A  band  of  roses,  one 
end  of  which  formed  a  garland  falling  to 
the  floor,  circled  and  bound  in  her  curls. 
What  a  figure  in  her  Oriental  garb,  hid 
ing  and  revealing.  Indeed,  the  greenroom 
seemed  bewitched  by  her  cry:  "  Oranges, 
will  you  have  my  oranges? " 

She  lifted  the  basket  high  and  offered 
the  fruit  in  her  enchanting  old-time  way, 
a  way  which  had  won  for  her  the  place 
of  first  a6tress  in  England.  Could  it  not 
now  dispose  of  Moll's  wares  and  make  the 
child  happy?  Almahyde's  royal  train  was 
caught  up  most  unroyally,  revealing  two 
dainty  ankles ;  and  she  laughed  and  danced 
and  disposed  of  her  wares  all  in  a  breath. 
Listen  and  love: 

Sweet  as  love-lips,  dearest  mine, 
Picked  by  Spanish  maids  divine, 
Black-eyed  beauties,  who,  like  Eve, 
With  golden  fruit  their  loves  deceive  ! 
Buy  oranges;  buy  oranges! 

Close  your  eyes,  when  these  you  taste ; 
'Think  your  arm  about  her  waist: 

[  26  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

'Thus  with  sixpence  may  you  win 
Happiness  unstained  with  sin. 
Buy  oranges;  buy  oranges! 

As  the  luscious  fruit  you  sip, 
You  will  wager  '/  is  her  lip ; 
Nothing  sweeter  since  the  rise 
Of  wickedness  in  Paradise. 

Buy  oranges;  buy  oranges! 

There  were  cries  of  "Brava!"  "An 
other  jig!"  and  "Hurrah  for  Nelly!"  It 
was  one  of  those  bits  of  a6Hng  behind  the 
scenes  which  are  so  rare  and  exquisite  and 
which  the  audience  never  see. 

"Marry,  gallants,  deny  me  after  that, 
if  you  dare";  and  Nell's  little  foot  came 
down  firmly  in  the  last  step  of  a  trium 
phant  jig,  indicating  a  determination  that 
Moll's  oranges  should  be  sold  and  quickly 
too. 

"Last  aft!  All  ready  for  the  last  aft," 
rang  out  in  Dick's  familiar  voice  from  the 
stage-door  as  she  ended.  It  was  well  some 
one  thought  of  the  play  and  of  the  audi 
ence  in  waiting. 

Many  of  the  players  hastily  departed  to 

[  27  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


take  up  their  cues;  but  not  so  Nell.  Her 
eyes  were  upon  the  lordly  Buckingham, 
who  was  endeavouring  to  effect  a  crafty 
exit. 

"Not  so  fast,  my  lord,"  she  said  as 
she  caught  his  handsome  cloak  and  drew 
him  back  into  the  room.  "I  want  you 
with  me."  She  looked  coyly  into  his  lord 
ship's  face  as  though  he  were  the  one  man 
in  all  the  world  she  loved,  and  her  curls 
and  cheek  almost  nestled  against  his  rich 
cloak.  "A  dozen,  did  you  say?  What  a 
heart  you  have,  my  lord.  A  bountiful 
heart!" 

Buckingham  was  dazed;  his  eyes 
sought  Nell,  then  looked  aghast  at  the 
oranges  she  would  force  upon  him.  The 
impudence  of  it! 

"A  dozen!"  he  exclaimed  in  awe. 
"'Slife,  Nelly;  what  would  I  do  with  a 
dozen  oranges? " 

"Pay  for  them,  in  sooth,"  promptly 
replied  the  vixen.  "  I  never  give  a  lord 
credit." 

The  player-folk  gathered  closer  to 
watch  the  scene;  for  there  was  evidently 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

more  fan  brewing,  and  that  too  at  the 
expense  of  a  very  royal  gentleman. 

"A  player  talk  of  credit!"  replied  his 
lordship,  quite  ironically,  as  he  straight 
ened  up  proudly  for  a  wit-encounter. 
"What  would  become  of  the  mum 
mers,  if  the  lords  did  not  fill  their  empty 
pockets?"  he  said,  crushingly. 

"  What  would  become  of  the  lords,  if 
the  players'  brains  did  not  try  to  fill  their 
empty  skulls  with  wits? "  quickly  retorted 
Nell. 

"  If  you  were  a  man,  sweet  Nelly,  I 
should  answer:  'The  lords  first  had  fools 
at  court;  then  supplanted  them  with 
players!" 

"And,  being  a  woman,  I  do  answer," 
replied  the  irrepressible  Nell,  "'  —  and 
played  the  fools  themselves,  my  lord!" 

The  players  tried  to  smother  their  feel 
ings;  but  the  retort  was  too  apt,  and  the 
greenroom  rang  with  laughter. 

Buckingham  turned  fiercely  upon 
them;  but  their  faces  were  instantly 
mummified. 

"  Gad,  I  would  sooner  face  the  Dutch 

[  29  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


fleet,  Nelly.  Up  go  my  hands,  fair  robber," 
he  said.  He  had  decided  to  succumb  for 
the  present.  In  his  finger-tips  glistened  a 
golden  guinea. 

Nell  eyed  the  coin  dubiously. 

"  Nay,  keep  this  and  your  wares  too," 
added  his  lordship,  in  hope  of  peace,  as 
he  placed  it  in  her  hand. 

"  Do  you  think  me  a  beggar? "  replied 
Nell,  indignantly.  "Take  your  posses 
sions,  every  one — every  orange."  She 
filled  his  hands  and  arms  to  overflowing 
with  her  golden  wares. 

His  lordship  winced,  but  stood  subdued. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  them?"  he 
asked,  falteringly. 

"Eat  them;  eat  them,"  promptly  and 
forcefully  retorted  the  quondam  orange- 
vender. 

"All?"  asked  his  lordship. 

"All!"  replied  her  ladyship. 

"Damme,  I  cannot  hold  a  dozen,"  he 
exclaimed,  aghast. 

"A  chair!  A  chair!"  cried  Nell. 
"Would  your  lordship  stand  at  the  feast 
of  gold?" 

[   30  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Before  Buckingham  had  time  to  reflect 
upon  the  outrage  to  his  dignity,  Nell 
forced  him  into  a  chair,  to  the  great  glee 
of  the  by-standers,  especially  of  Manager 
Hart,  who  chuckled  to  an  aclor  by  his 
side:  "She'll  pluck  his  fine  feathers; 
curse  his  arrogance." 

"  Your  knees  together,  my  lord !  What, 
have  they  never  united  in  prayer?"  glee 
fully  laughed  Nell  as  she  further  hum 
bled  his  lordship  by  forcing  his  knees  to 
gether  to  form  a  lap  upon  which  to  pile 
more  oranges. 

Buckingham  did  not  relish  the  scene; 
but  he  was  clever  enough  to  humour  the 
vixen,  both  from  fear  of  her  tongue  and 
from  hope  of  favours  as  well  as  words  from 
her  rosy  lips. 

"  They  '11  unite  to  hold  thee,  wench,"  he 
suggested,  with  a  sickly  laugh,  as  he  ob 
served  his  knees  well  laden  with  oranges. 

"  I  trow  not,"  retorted  Nell;  "  they  can 
scarce  hold  their  own.  There!"  and  she 
roguishly  capped  the  pyramid  which 
burdened  his  lordship's  knees  with  the 
largest  in  her  basket. 

[  31  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"  I  '11  barter  these  back  for  my  change, 
sweet  Nell,"  he  pleaded. 

"What  change?"  quickly  cried  the 
merry  imp  of  Satan. 

"I  gave  you  a  golden  guinea,"  an 
swered  his  lordship,  woefully. 

"  I  gave  you  a  golden  dozen,  my  lord ! " 
replied  Nell,  gleefully. 

"  Oranges,  who  will  have  my  oranges? " 

She  was  done  with  Buckingham  and 
had  turned  about  for  other  prey. 

Hart  could  not  allow  the  opportunity  to 
escape  without  a  shot  at  his  hated  lordship. 

"Fleeced,"  he  whispered  grimly  over 
his  lordship's  shoulder,  with  a  merry 
chuckle. 

Buckingham  rose  angrily. 

"  A  plague  on  the  wench  and  her  deal 
ings,"  he  said.  His  oranges  rolled  far  and 
wide  over  the  floor  of  the  greenroom. 

"You  should  be  proud,  my  lord,  to 
be  robbed  by  so  fair  a  hand,"  continued 
Hart,  consolingly.  "'Tis  an  honour,  I  as 
sure  you;  we  all  envy  you." 

Buckingham  did  not  relish  the  conso 
lation. 

[  32  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"Tis  an  old  saw,  Master  Hart,"  he 
replied:  "'He  laughs  best  who  laughs 
last.'" 

As  he  spoke,  Nell's  orange-cry  rang 
out  again  above  the  confusion  and  the 
fun.  She  was  still  at  it.  Moll  was  finding 
vengeance  and  money,  indeed,  though 
she  dwelt  upon  her  accumulating  posses 
sions  through  eyelashes  dim  with  tears. 

"It's  near  your  cue,  Mistress  Nell," 
cried  out  the  watchful  Dick  at  the  stage- 
door. 

"Six  oranges  left;  see  me  sell  them, 
Moll,"  cried  the  unheeding  vender. 

"It's  near  your  cue,  Mistress  Nell!" 
again  shouted  the  call-boy,  in  anxious 
tones. 

"Marry,  my  cue  will  await  my  com 
ing,  pretty  one,"  laughed  Nell. 

The  boy  was  not  so  sure  of  that.  "  Oh, 
don't  be  late,  Mistress  Nell,"  he  pleaded. 
"I'll  buy  the  oranges  rather  than  have 
you  make  a  stage-wait." 

"  Dear  heart,"  replied  Nell,  touched 
by  the  lad's  solicitude.  "Keep  your  pen 
nies,  Dick,  and  you  and  I  will  have  a  lark 

[  33  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


with  them  some  fine  day.  Six  oranges 
left;  going — going  —  "  She  sprang  into 
the  throne-chair,  placed  one  of  the  small 
est  feet  in  England  impudently  on  one 
of  its  arms  and  proceeded  to  vend  her  re 
maining  wares  from  on  high,  to  the  huge 
satisfaction  of  her  admirers. 

The  situation  was  growing  serious. 
Nell  was  not  to  be  trifled  with.  The  ac 
tors  stood  breathless.  Hart  grew  wild  as 
he  realized  the  difficulty  and  the  fact  that 
she  was  uncontrollable.  King  and  Parlia 
ment,  he  well  knew,  could  not  move  her 
from  her  whimsical  purpose,  much  less 
the  manager  of  the  King's. 

"What  are  you  "doing,  Nell?"  he 
pleaded,  wildly.  "You  will  ruin  the  first 
night.  His  Majesty  in  front,  too!  Dryden 
will  never  forgive  us  if 'Granada'  goes 
wrong  through  our  fault." 

"  Heyday !  What  care  I  for '  Granada '  ? " 
and  Nell  swung  the  basket  of  oranges 
high  in  air  and  calmly  awaited  bids. 
"  Not  a  step  on  the  stage  till  the  basket  is 
empty." 

It     was     Buckingham's     turn     now. 

[  34] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"  Here 's  music  for  our  manager,"  he 
chuckled.  "Our  deepest  sympathy,  friend 
Hart." 

This  was  more  than  Hart  could  bear. 
The  manager  of  the  King's  House  was 
forced  into  profanity.  "  Damn  your  sym 
pathy,"  exclaimed  he;  and  few  would 
criticise  him  for  it.  He  apologized  as 
quickly,  however,  and  turned  to  Nell. 
"There  goes  your  scene,  Nell.  I'll  buy 
your  oranges,  when  you  come  off,"  he  con 
tinued  to  plead,  in  desperation,  scarcely 
less  fearful  of  offending  her  than  of  of 
fending  the  great  Lord  Buckingham. 

"  Now  or  never,"  calmly  replied  the 
vender  from  her  chair-top. 

"The  devil  take  the  women,"  mut 
tered  Hart,  frantically,  as  he  rushed  head 
long  into  his  tiring-room. 

"Marry,  Heaven  defend,"  laughed 
Nell;  "for  he's  got  the  men  already." 
She  sprang  lightly  from  the  chair  to  the 
floor. 

Hart  was  back  on  the  instant,  well  out 
of  breath  but  purse  in  hand. 

"  Here,  here,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Never 

[  35  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


mind  the  oranges,  wench.  The  audience 
will  be  waiting." 

"  Faith  and  troth,  and  is  not  Nell  worth 
waiting  for?"  she  cried,  her  eyes  shining 
radiantly.  Indeed,  the  audience  would 
have  gladly  waited,  could  they  have  but 
seen  her  pretty,  winsome  way !  "  These  are 
yours  —  all  —  all!"  she  continued,  as  she 
gleefully  emptied  the  basket  of  its  remain 
ing  fruit  over  Prince  Almanzor's  head. 

Hart  protested  vainly. 

Then  rushing  back  to  Moll,  Nell  threw 
both  arms  about  the  girl  triumphantly. 
"There,  Moll,"  she  said,  "  is  your  basket 
and  all  the  trophies";  and  she  gave  Moll 
the  basket  with  the  glittering  coins  jan 
gling  in  it. 

"Your  cue — your  cue  is  spoken,  Mis 
tress  Nell,"  shrieked  Dick  from  the  stage- 
door. 

Nell  heeded  not.  Her  eyes  happening 
upon  an  orange  which  had  fallen  near  the 
throne-chair,  she  caught  it  up  eagerly  and 
hurled  it  at  Manager  Hart. 

"  Forsooth,  here 's  another  orange,  Mas 
ter  Manager." 

[  36  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

He  succeeded  in  catching  it  despite  his 
excitement. 

"Your  cue — your  cue  —  Mistress 
Nell!"  came  from  every  throat  as  one. 

Nell  tossed  back  her  head  indifferently. 
"  Let  them  wait;  let  them  wait,"  she  said, 
defiantly. 

The  stage-beauty  crossed  leisurely  to 
the  glass  and  carelessly  arranged  her  dra 
pery  and  the  band  of  roses  encircling  her 
hair. 

Then  the  hoyden  was  gone.  In  an  in 
stant,  Nell  was  transformed  into  the  prin 
cess,  Almahyde.  The  room  had  been  filled 
with  breathless  suspense ;  but  what  seemed 
to  the  players  an  endless  period  of  time 
was  but  a  minute.  Nell  turned  to  the  man 
ager,  and  with  all  the  suavity  of  a  prin 
cess  of  tragedy  kissed  her  hand  tantaliz- 
ingly  to  him  and  said:  "Now,  Jack,  I  '11 
teach  you  how  to  act." 

She  passed  out,  and,  in  a  moment, 
rounds  of  applause  from  the  amphithea 
tre  filled  the  room.  She  was  right;  the 
audience  would  wait  for  her. 

A  moment  later,  the  greenroom  was 

1 37] 


Mistress  Nell 


deserted  except  for  Manager  Hart  and 
Lord  Buckingham.  Hart  had  thrown  the 
call-boy  almost  bodily  through  the  door 
that  led  to  the  stage,  thus  venting  his  anger 
upon  the  unoffending  lad,  who  had  been 
unfortunate  enough  to  happen  in  his  way 
ill  betimes.  He  now  stood  vainly  contem 
plating  himself  before  the  glass  and  await 
ing  his  cue.  Buckingham  leaned  upon  a 
chair-top,  uncertain  as  to  his  course. 

"Damme!  She  shall  rue  this  work," 
he  muttered  at  length.  "A  man  might 
as  well  make  love  to  a  wind-mill.  I  for 
got  to  tell  her  how  her  gown  becomes 
her.  That  is  a  careless  thing  to  forget." 
The  reflection  forthwith  determined  his 
course.  "Nelly,  Nelly,  Nelly,"  he  called 
as  he  quickly  crossed  the  room  after  the 
departed  Nell,  "you  are  divine  to-night. 
Your  gown  is  simply  — " 

The  manager's  voice  stayed  him  at  the 
stage-door.  "My  lord,  come  back:  mv 
lord—" 

Buckingham's  hand  had  gone  so  far,  in 
deed,  as  to  push  open  the  door.  He  stood 
entranced  as  he  looked  out  upon  the  ob- 
[  38  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

je6t  of  his  adoration  upon  the  stage. "  Per 
fection!"  he  exclaimed.  "Your  eyes — " 

"My  lord,  my  lord,  you  forget  — " 

Buckingham  turned  indignantly  at  the 
voice  which  dared  to  interrupt  him  in  the 
midst  of  his  rhapsody. 

"  You  forget — your  oranges,  my  lord," 
mildly  suggested  Hart,  as  he  pointed  to 
the  fruit  scattered  upon  the  floor. 

Buckingham's  face  crimsoned.  "Plague 
on't!  They  are  sour,  Master  Hart."  With 
a  glance  of  contempt,  he  turned  on  his 
heel  and  left  the  room. 

A  triumphant  smile  played  upon  the 
manager's  face.  He  felt  that  he  had  an 
noyed  his  lordship  without  his  intention 
being  apparent.  "A  good  exit,  on  my 
honour,"  he  muttered,  as  he  stood  con 
templating  the  door  through  which 
Buckingham  had  passed;  "but,  by 
Heaven,  he  shall  better  it  unless  he 
takes  his  eyes  from  Nell.  Great  men  be 
lieve  themselves  resistless  with  the  fair; 
more  often,  the  fair  are  resistless  with 
great  men." 

He  took  a  final  look  at  himself  in  the 

[  39  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


glass,  adjusted  his  scimiter;  and,  well  sat 
isfied  with  himself  and  the  conceit  of  his 
epigram  unheard  save  by  himself,  he  also 
departed,  to  take  up  his  cue. 


CHAPTER     III 


He  took  them  from  Castlemaines  hand  to  throw  to  you. 


T] 


HE  greenroom  seemed  like  some  old 
forest  rent  by  a  storm.  Its  furniture,  which 
was  none  too  regular  at  best,  either  in 
carving  or  arrangement,  had  the  irregu 
larity  which  comes  only  with  a  tempest, 
human  or  divine.  The  table,  it  is  true,  still 
stood  on  its  four  oaken  legs;  but  even  it 
was  well  awry.  The  chairs  were  scattered 
here  and  there,  some  resting  upon  their 
backs.  To  add  to  all  this,  oranges  in  con 
fusion  were  strewn  broadcast  upon  the 
floor. 

A  storm  in  facl  had  visited  the  green 
room.  The  storm  was  Nell. 

In  the  midst  of  the  confusion,  a  jolly 
old  face  peeped  cautiously  in  at  the  door 
which  led  to  the  street.  At  the  sound  of 
Manager  Hart's  thunderous  tones  com 
ing  from  the  stage,  however,  it  as  promptly 
disappeared,  only  to  return  when  the  ap- 

[  41  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


parent  danger  ceased.  It  was  a  rare  old  fig 
ure  and  a  rare  old  dress  and  a  rare  old 
man.  Yet,  not  an  old  man  either.  His  face 
was  red;  for  he  was  a  tavern  spirit,  well 
known  and  well  beloved,  —  a  lover  of  good 
ale!  Across  his  back  hung  a  fiddle  which 
too  had  the  appearance  of  being  the  worse 
for  wear,  if  fiddles  can  ever  be  said  to  be 
the  worse  for  wear. 

The  intruder  took  off  his  dilapidated 
hat,  hugged  his  fiddle  closely  under  his 
arm  and  looked  about  the  room,  more 
cautiously  than  respectfully. 

"Oons,  here  is  a  scattering  of  props;  a 
warfare  of  the  orange-wenches!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "  A  wise  head  comes  into  battle 
after  the  last  shot  is  fired." 

He  proceeded  forthwith  to  fill  his 
pockets,  of  which  there  seemed  to  be  an 
abundance  of  infinite  depth,  with  oranges. 
This  done,  he  calmly  made  a  hole  in  the 
next  orange  which  came  to  his  hand  and 
began  to  suck  it  loudly  and  persistently, 
boy-fashion,  meanwhile  smacking  his 
lips.  His  face  was  one  wreath  of  unftuous 
smiles.  "There  is  but  one  way  to  eat  an 

[42  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

orange,"  he  chuckled;  "that's  through  a 
hole." 

At  this  moment,  Hart's  voice  was  heard 
again  upon  the  stage,  and  the  new-comer 
to  the  greenroom  liked  to  have  dropped 
his  orange.  "Odsbud,  that's  one  of  Mas 
ter  Hart's  love-tones,"  he  thought.  "I 
must  see  Nell  before  he  sees  me,  or  it  will 
be  farewell  Strings."  He  hastened  to  Nell's 
tiring-room  and  rapped  lightly  on  the 
door.  "Mistress  Nell!  Mistress  Nell!"  he 
called. 

The  door  opened,  but  it  was  not  Nell. 
Her  maid  pointed  toward  the  stage. 
Strings  —  for  Strings  was  his  name,  or  at 
least  none  knew  him  by  a  better — accord 
ingly  hobbled  across  the  room — for  the 
wars  too  had  left  their  mark  on  him — 
and  peeped  off  in  the  direction  indicated. 

"Gad,"  he  exclaimed,  gleefully  clap 
ping  his  hands,  "there  she  goes  on  the 
stage  as  a  Moorish  princess." 

There  was  a  storm  of  applause  with 
out. 

"Bravo,  Nelly,  bravo!"  he  continued. 
"She's  caught  the  lads  in  the  pit.  They 

[  43  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


worship  Nell  out  there."  The  old  fellow 
straightened  up  as  if  he  felt  a  personal 
pride  in  the  audience  for  evincing  such 
good  taste. 

"Oons!  Jack  Hart  struts  about  like  a 
young  game-cock  at  his  first  fight,"  he  ob 
served.  He  broke  into  an  infectious  laugh, 
which  would  have  been  a  fine  basso  for 
Nell's  laugh. 

From  the  manager,  his  eye  turned  to 
ward  the  place  which  he  himself  had 
once  occupied  among  the  musicians.  He 
began  to  dance  up  and  down  with  both 
feet,  his  knees  well  bent,  boy-fashion,  and 
to  clap  his  hands  wildly.  "  Look  ye,  little 
Tompkins  got  my  old  place  with  the  fid 
dle.  Whack,  de-doodle-de-do!  Whack, 
de-doodle,  de-doodle-de-do!"  he  cried, 
giving  grotesque  imitations  to  his  own 
great  glee  of  his  successor  as  leader  of  the 
orchestra. 

Then,  shaking  his  head,  confident  of 
his  own  superiority  with  the  bow,  he 
turned  back  into  the  greenroom  and,  with 
his  mouth  half  full  of  orange,  uttered  the 
droll  diftum : "  It  will  take  more  than  cat- 

[  44  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

gut  and  horse-hair  to  make  you  a  fiddler, 
Tommy,  my  boy." 

Thus  Strings  stood  blandly  sucking  his 
orange  with  personal  satisfaction  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  when  Dick  entered 
from  the  stage.  The  call-boy  paused  as  if 
he  could  not  believe  his  eyes.  He  looked 
and  looked  again. 

"  Heigh-ho ! "  he  exclaimed  at  last,  and 
then  rushed  across  the  room  to  greet  the 
old  fiddler.  "  Why,  Strings,  I  thought  we 
would  never  see  you  again;  how  fares  it 
with  you?" 

Strings  placed  the  orange  which  he 
had  been  eating  and  which  he  knew  full 
well  was  none  of  his  own  well  behind 
him;  and,  assuming  an  unconcerned  and 
serious  air,  he  replied :  "  Odd !  A  little  the 
worse  for  wear,  Dickey,  me  and  the  old 
fiddle,  but  still  smiling  with  the  world." 
There  was  a  bit  of  a  twinkle  in  his  eye 
as  he  spoke. 

Dick,  ever  mindful  of  the  welfare  and 
appearance  of  the  theatre,  unhooked  from 
the  wall  a  huge  shield,  which  mayhap 
had  served  some  favourite  knight  of  yore, 

[45  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


and,  using  it  as  a  tray,  proceeded  to  gather 
the  scattered  fruit. 

"Have  an  orange?"  he  inquired  of 
Strings,  who  still  stood  in  a  refleclive 
mood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  as  he 
rested  in  his  labours  by  him. 

"How;  do  they  belong  to  you?"  de 
manded  Strings. 

"Oh,  no,"  admitted  Dick,  "but—" 

The  fiddler  instantly  assumed  an  air  of 
injured  innocence. 

"  How  dare  you,"  he  cried,  "  offer  me 
what  don't  belong  to  you?"  He  turned 
upon  the  boy  almost  ferociously  at  the 
bare  thought.  "  Honesty  is  the  best  pol 
icy,"  he  continued,  seriously.  "I  have 
tried  both,  lad";  and,  in  his  eagerness  to 
impress  upon  the  boy  the  seriousness  of 
taking  that  which  does  not  belong  to 
you,  he  gestured  inadvertently  with  the 
hand  which  till  now  had  held  the  stolen 
orange  well  behind  him. 

Dick's  eye  fell  upon  it,  and  so  did 
Strings's.  There  was  a  moment's  awk 
wardness,  and  then  both  burst  into  a  peal 
of  joyous  laughter. 

[46] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"Oh,  well,  egad,  —  I  will  join  you, 
Dick,"  said  Strings,  with  more  patronage 
still  than  apology.  He  seated  himself 
upon  the  table  and  began  anew  to  suck 
his  orange  in  philosophic  fashion. 

"  But,  mind  you,  lad;  never  again  offer 
that  which  is  not  your  own,  for  there 
you  are  twice  cursed,"  he  discoursed 
pompously.  "You  make  him  who  re 
ceives  guilty  of  your  larceny.  Oons,  my 
old  wound."  He  winced  from  pain.  "  He 
becomes  an  accomplice  in  your  crime. 
So  says  the  King's  law.  Hush,  lad,  I  am 
devouring  the  evidence  of  your  guilt." 

The  boy  by  this  time  had  placed  the 
shield  of  oranges  in  the  corner  of  the 
room  and  had  returned  to  listen  to 
Strings's  discourse.  "You  speak  with  the 
learning  of  a  solicitor,"  he  said,  as  he 
looked  respectfully  into  the  old  fiddler's 
face. 

Strings  met  the  glance  with  due  dig 
nity. 

"Marry,  I've  often  been  in  the  pres 
ence  of -a  judge,"  he  replied,  with  great 
solemnity.  His  face  reflected  the  ups  and 

[  47  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


downs  in  his  career  as  he  made  the  con 
fession. 

"  Is  that  where  you  have  been,  Strings, 
all  these  long  days?"  asked  Dick,  inno 
cently. 

"Heaven  forbid!"  exclaimed  Strings, 
with  sadly  retrospective  countenance. 
"Travelling,  lad — contemplating  the 
world,  from  the  King's  highways.  Take 
note,  my  boy,  —  a  prosperous  man!  I 
came  into  the  world  without  a  rag  that 
I  could  call  my  own,  and  now  I  have  an 
abundance.  Saith  the  philosopher:  Some 
men  are  born  to  rags,  some  achieve  rags 
and  some  have  rags  thrust  upon  them." 

"I  wish  you  were  back  with  us, 
Strings,"  said  the  boy,  sympathetically, 
as  he  put  a  hand  upon  Strings's  broad 
shoulder  and  looked  admiringly  up  into 
his  face. 

"  I  wish  so  myself,"  replied  the  fiddler. 
'Thrice  a  day,  I  grow  lonesome  here." 
A  weather-beaten  hand  indicated  the 
spot  where  good  dinners  should  be. 

"  They  have  n't  all  forgot  you,  Strings," 
continued  his  companion,  consolingly. 

[  48  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"Right,  lad!"  said  Strings,  musingly, 
as  he  lifted  the  old  viol  close  against  his 
cheek  and  tenderly  picked  it.  "The  old 
fiddle  is  true  to  me  yet,  though  there  is 
but  one  string  left  to  its  dear  old  neck." 
There  was  a  sob  in  his  voice  as  he  spoke. 
"I  tell  you,  a  fiddle's  human,  Dick!  It 
laughs  at  my  jokes  alone  now;  it  weeps 
at  my  sorrows."  He  sighed  deeply  and 
the  tears  glistened  in  his  eyes.  "The  fid 
dle  is  the  only  friend  left  me  and  the 
little  ones  at  home  now,  my  lad." 

"  —  And  Dick!"  the  boy  suggested, 
somewhat  hurt.  He  too  was  weeping. 
"It's  a  shame;  that's  what  it  is!"  he 
broke  out,  indignantly.  "Tompkins  can't 
play  the  music  like  you  used  to,  Strings." 

"Oons!"  exclaimed  the  fiddler,  the 
humour  in  his  nature  bubbling  again  to 
the  surface.  "It's  only  now  and  then  the 
Lord  has  time  to  make  a  fiddler,  Dickey, 
my  boy." 

As  he  spoke,  the  greenroom  shook 
with  the  rounds  of  applause  from  the  pit 
and  galleries  without. 

"Hurrah!"     he    shouted,    following 

[49] 


Mistress  Nell 


Dick  to  the  stage-door — his  own  sorrows 
melting  before  the  sunshine  of  his  joy  at 
the  success  of  his  favourite.  "Nell  has 
caught  them  with  the  epilogue."  He 
danced  gleefully  about,  entering  heartily 
into  the  applause  and  totally  forgetful  of 
the  facl  that  he  was  on  dangerous  ground. 

Dick  was  more  watchful.  "Manager 
Hart 's  coming ! "  he  exclaimed  in  startled 
voice,  fearful  for  the  welfare  of  his  friend. 

Strings  collapsed.  "Oh,  Lord,  let  me 
be  gone,"  he  said,  as  he  remembered  the 
bitter  quarrel  he  had  had  with  the  man 
ager  of  the  King's  House,  which  ended 
in  the  employment  of  Tompkins.  He 
did  not  yearn  for  another  interview;  for 
Hart  had  forbidden  him  the  theatre  on 
pain  of  whipping. 

"Where  can  you  hide?"  whispered 
Dick,  woefully,  as  the  manager's  voice 
indicated  that  he  was  approaching  the 
greenroom,  and  that  too  in  far  from  the 
best  of  humour. 

"Behind  Richard's  throne-chair!  It 
has  held  sinners  before  now,"  added  the 
fiddler  as  he  glided  well  out  of  sight. 

[  5°  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Dick  was  more  cautious.  In  a  twink 
ling,  he  was  out  of  the  door  which  led 
to  the  street. 

The  greenroom  walls  looked  grim  in 
the  sputtering  candle-light,  but  they  had 
naught  to  say. 

The  door  from  the  stage  opened,  and 
in  came  Nell.  There  was  something  sadly 
beautiful  and  pathetic  in  her  face.  She 
had  enjoyed  but  now  one  of  the  grandest 
triumphs  known  to  the  theatre,  and  yet 
she  seemed  oblivious  to  the  applause  and 
bravas,  to  the  lights  and  to  the  royalty. 

A  large  bouquet  of  flowers  was  in  her 
arms — a  bouquet  of  red  roses.  Her  lips 
touched  them  reverently.  Her  eyes,  how 
ever,  were  far  away  in  a  dream  of  the 
past. 

"  From  the  hand  of  the  King  of  Eng 
land!"  she  mused  softly  to  herself.  "The 
King?  How  like  his  face  to  the  youthful 
cavalier,  who  weary  and  worn  reined  in 
his  steed  a  summer's  day,  now  long  ago, 
and  took  a  gourd  of  water  from  my  hand. 
Could  he  have  been  the  King?  Pooh, 
pooh!  I  dream  again." 


Mistress  Nell 


She  turned  away,  as  from  herself,  with 
a  heart-heavy  laugh.  The  manager  en 
tered  from  the  stage. 

"  See,  Jack,  my  flowers,"  she  said,  again 
in  an  ecstasy  of  happiness.  "Are  they  not 
exquisite?" 

"  He  took  them  from  Castlemaine's 
hand  to  throw  to  you,"  snarled  Hart, 
jealously. 

"The  sweeter,  then!"  and  Nell  broke 
into  a  tantalizing  laugh.  "  Mayhap  he 
was  teaching  the  player-king  to  do  like 
wise,  Jack,"  she  added,  roguishly,  as  she 
arranged  the  flowers  in  a  vase. 

"I  am  in  no  mood  for  wit-thrusts," 
replied  Hart  as  he  fretfully  paced  the 
room.  "You  played  that  scene  like  an 
icicle." 

"  In  sooth,  your  acling  froze  me,"  slyly 
retorted  Nell,  kindly  but  pointedly.  She 
took  the  sweetest  roses  from  the  bunch, 
kissed  them  and  arranged  them  in  her 
bosom. 

This  did  not  improve  Hart's  temper. 

Strings  seized  the  opportunity  to  es 
cape  from  his  hiding-place  to  the  stage. 

[  52  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"  I  say,  you  completely  ruined  my 
work,"  said  Hart.  "  The  audience  were 
rightly  displeased." 

"With  you,  perhaps,"  suggested  Nell. 
"  I  did  not  observe  the  feeling." 

Hart  could  no  longer  control  himself. 
"You  vilely  read  those  glorious  lines: 

"See  how  the  gazing  People  crowd  the  Place; 
All  gaping  to  be  fill' d  with  my  Disgrace. 
That  Shout,  like  the  hoarse  Peals  of  Vultures 

rings, 
When,  over  fighting   Fields  they  beat  their 

wings." 

"And  how  should  I  read  them,  dear 
master? "  she  asked  demurely  of  her  vain 
glorious  preceptor. 

"  Like  I  read  them,  in  sooth,"  replied 
he,  well  convinced  that  his  reading  could 
not  be  bettered. 

"Like  you  read  them,  in  sooth,"  re 
plied  Nell,  meekly.  She  took  the  floor 
and  repeated  the  lines  with  the  precise 
action  and  trick  of  voice  which  Hart  had 
used.  Every  "r"was  well  trilled;  "gap 
ing"  was  pronounced  with  an  anaconda- 

[  53  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


look,  as  though  she  were  about  to  swal 
low  the  theatre,  audience  and  all;  and, 
as  she  spoke  the  line,  "  When,  over  fight 
ing  Fields  they  beat  their  wings,"  she 
raised  her  arms  and  shoulders  in  imita 
tion  of  some  barn-yard  fowl  vainly  essay 
ing  flight  and  swept  across  the  room,  the 
piclure  of  grace  in  ungracefulness. 

"'Tis  monstrous!"  exclaimed  Hart, 
bitterly,  as  he  realized  the  travesty.  "You 
cannot  act  and  never  could.  I  was  a  fool 
to  engage  you." 

Nell  was  back  by  the  vase,  toying  with 
the  flowers.  "London  applauds  my  act 
ing,"  she  suggested,  indifferently. 

"London  applauds  the  face  and  figure; 
not  the  art,"  replied  Hart. 

"London  is  wise;  for  the  art  is  in  the 
face  and  figure,  Master  Jack.  You  told 
me  so  yourself,"  she  added,  sharply, 
pointing  her  finger  at  her  adversary  in 
quick  condemnation.  She  turned  away 
triumphant. 

"I  was  a  fool  like  the  rest,"  replied 
Hart,  visibly  irritated  that  he  could  not 
get  the  better  of  the  argument. 

[  54  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"Come,  don't  be  angry,"  said  Nell. 
Her  manner  had  changed;  for  her  heart 
had  made  her  fearful  lest  her  tongue  had 
been  unkind.  "Mayhap  Almahyde  is  the 
last  part  Nell  will  ever  play."  She  looked 
thoughtfully  into  the  bunch  of  roses.  Did 
she  see  a  prophecy  there? 

He  approached  the  table  where  she 
stood.  "Your  head  is  turned  by  the  flow 
ers,"  he  said,  bitterly.  "An  honest  mo 
tive,  no  doubt,  prompted  the  royal  gift." 

Nell  turned  sharply  upon  him.  Her 
lips  trembled,  but  one  word  only  came 
to  them  —  "Jack!" 

Hart's  eyes  fell  under  the  rebuke;  for 
he  knew  that  only  anger  prompted  what 
he  had  said.  He  would  have  struck  an 
other  for  the  same  words. 

"  Pardon,  Nell,"  he  said,  softly.  "  My 
heart  rebukes  my  tongue.  I  love  you!" 

Nell  stepped  back  to  the  mirror,  con 
templating  herself,  bedecked  as  she  was 
with  the  flowers.  In  an  instant  she  forgot 
all,  and  replied  playfully  to  Hart's  confes 
sion  of  love:  "Of  course,  you  do.  How 
could  you  help  it?  So  do  others." 

[  55  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"I  love  you  better  than  the  rest,"  he 
added,  vehemently, "  better  than  my  life." 
He  tried  to  put  his  arms  about  her. 

Nell,  however,  was  by  him  like  a  flash. 

"  Not  so  fast,  dear  sir,"  she  said,  coyly; 
and  she  tiptoed  across  the  room  and  en 
sconced  herself  high  in  the  throne-chair. 

Hart  followed  and  knelt  below  her, 
adoring. 

"Admit  that  I  can  act — a  little — just 
a  little  —  dear  Hart,  or  tell  me  no  more  of 
love."  She  spoke  with  the  half-amused, 
half-indifferent  air  of  a  beautiful  princess 
to  some  servant-suitor;  and  she  was,  in 
deed,  most  lovable  as  she  leaned  back  in 
the  great  throne-chair.  She  seemed  a 
queen  and  the  theatre  her  realm.  Her 
beautiful  arms  shone  white  in  the  flicker 
ing  candle-light.  Her  sceptre  was  a  rose 
which  the  King  of  England  had  given  her. 

Hart  stepped  back  and  looked  upon 
the  picture.  "By  heaven,  Nell,"  he  cried, 
"  I  spoke  in  anger.  You  are  the  most  mar 
vellous  aclress  in  the  world.  Nature,  art 
and  genius  crown  your  work." 

Nell  smiled  at  his  vehemence. "  I  begin 

[  56  ] 


A  Merry  ^Tale  of  a  Merry  'Time 

to  think  that  you  have  taste  most  excel 
lent,"  she  said. 

Hart  sprang  to  her  side,  filled  with 
hope.  As  the  stage-lover  he  ne'er  spoke  in 
tenderer  tones. "  Sweet  Nell,  when  I  found 
you  in  the  pit,  a  ragged  orange-girl,  I  saw 
the  sparkle  in  your  eye,  the  bright  intel 
ligence,  the  magic  genius,  which  artists 
love.  I  claimed  you  for  my  art,  which 
is  the  art  of  arts — for  it  embraces  all.  I  had 
the  theatre.  I  gave  it  you.  You  captured 
the  Lane  —  then  London.  You  captured 
my  soul  as  well,  and  held  it  slave." 

"Did  I  do  all  that,  dear  Jack?"  she 
asked,  wistfully. 

"And  more,"  said  Hart,  rapturously. 
"You  captured  my  years  to  come,  my 
hope,  ambition,  love — all.  All  centred 
in  your  heart  and  eyes,  sweet  Nell,  from 
the  hour  I  first  beheld  you." 

Nell's  look  was  far  away.  "Is  love  so 
beautiful?"  she  murmured  softly.  Her 
eye  fell  upon  her  sceptre-rose.  "Yea,  I 
begin  to  think  it  is."  She  mused  a  mo 
ment,  until  the  silence  seemed  to  awaken 
her.  She  looked  into  Hart's  eyes  again, 

[  57  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


sadly  but  firmly,  then  spoke  as  with  an 
effort:  "You  paint  the  picture  well,  dear 
Jack.  Paint  on."  Her  hand  waved  com- 
mandingly. 

"I  could  not  paint  ill  with  such  a 
model,"  said  he,  his  voice  full  of  adoration. 

"  Well  said,"  she  replied;  "  and  by  my 
troth,  I  have  relented  like  you,  dear  Jack. 
I  admit  you  too  can  acl: — and  marvel 
lously  well."  She  took  his  trembling  hand 
and  descended  from  the  throne.  He  tried 
once  again  to  embrace  her,  but  she  avoided 
him  as  before. 

"  Is 't  true? "  he  asked,  eagerly,  without 
observing  the  hidden  meaning  in  her 
voice. 

"'Tis  true,  indeed — with  proper  em 
phasis  and  proper  art  and  proper  intona 
tion."  She  crossed  the  room,  Hart  follow 
ing  her. 

"  I  scarce  can  live  for  joy,"  he  breathed. 

Nell  leaned  back  upon  the  table  and 
looked  knowingly  and  deeply  into  Hart's 
eyes.  Her  voice  grew  very  low,  but  clear 
and  full  of  meaning. 

"  In  faith,"  she  said,  "  I  trow  and  sadly 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

speak  but  true;  for  I  am  sad  at  times — 
yea — very  sad — when  I  observe,  with  all 
my  woman's  wiles  and  arts,  I  cannot  a6l 
the  hypocrite  like  men.'* 

"What  mean  you,  darling  cynic?" 
asked  he,  jocosely. 

"Darling!"  she  cried,  repeating  the 
word,  with  a  peculiar  look.  "To  tell  two 
girls  within  the  hour  you  love  each  to  the 
death  would  be  in  me  hypocrisy,  I  admit, 
beyond  my  art;  but  you  men  can  do  such 
things  with  conscience  clear." 

Hart  turned  away  his  face. "  She's  found 
me  out,"  he  thought. 

"  Nell,  I  never  loved  the  Spanish  danc 
ing-girl.  You  know  I  love  but  you." 

"Oh,  ho!"  laughed  Nell.  "Then  why 
did  you  tell  her  so?  —  to  break  her  heart 
or  mine?" 

The  manager  stood  confused.  He  scarce 
knew  what  to  say. 

"  You  are  cruel,  Nell,"  he  pleaded,  fret 
fully.  "You  never  loved  me,  never." 

"Did  I  ever  say  I  did?" 

Hart  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  Come,  don't  pout,  Jack.  An  armistice 

[  59  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


in  this,  my  friend,  for  you  were  my  friend 
in  the  old  days  when  I  needed  one,  and  I 
love  you  for  that."  She  placed  her  hands 
kindly  on  the  manager's  shoulders,  then 
turned  and  began  to  arrange  anew  the 
gift-flowers  in  the  vase. 

"I'll  win  your  life's  love,  Nell,  in 
spite  of  you,"  he  said,  determinedly. 

She  turned  her  honest  eyes  upon  him. 
"Nay,  do  not  try;  believe  me,  do  not 
try,"  she  said  softly. 

"Nell,  you  do  not  mean — ?"  His 
voice  faltered. 

"You  must  not  love  me,"  she  said, 
firmly;  "believe  me,  you  must  not." 

"I  must  not  love  you!"  His  voice 
scarcely  breathed  the  words. 

'There,  there;  we  are  growing  senti 
mental,  Jack,  —  and  at  our  age,"  she  re 
plied.  She  laughed  gaily  and  started  for 
her  tiring-room. 

He  followed  her. 

"Sup  with  me,  Nell,"  he  pleaded. 
"No  word  of  this,  I  promise  you." 

'  Heyday,  I'll  see  how  good  you  are, 
Jack,"  she  answered,  cordially. 

[  60  ] 


A  Merry  Ta/e  of  a  Merry  Time 

"  My  second  bid  to  sup  to-night,"  she 
thought.  "Who  sets  the  better  feast?" 

The  tiring-room  door  was  open;  and 
the  little  candles  danced  gleefully  about 
the  make-up  mirror,  for  even  candles 
seemed  happy  when  Nell  came  near. 
The  maid  stood  ready  to  assist  her  to  a 
gown  and  wrap,  that  she  might  leave  the 
theatre. 

Nell  turned.  Hart  still  stood  waiting. 
The  spirit  of  kindness  o'er-mastered  her. 

"Your  hand,  friend,  your  hand,"  she 
said,  taking  the  manager's  hand.  "  When 
next  you  try  to  win  a  woman's  love, 
don't  throw  away  her  confidence;  for 
you  will  never  get  it  back  again  entire." 

Hart  bowed  his  head  under  the  re 
buke;  and  she  entered  her  room. 


CHAPTER     IV 


Flowers  and  Music  feed  naught  but  Love. 

A  HE  manager  stood  a  moment  look 
ing  through  the  half-closed  door  at  Nell. 
There  was  a  strange  mingling  of  contend 
ing  forces  at  work  in  his  nature.  To  be 
sure,  he  had  trifled  with  the  affections  of 
the  Spanish  dancing-girl,  a  new  arrival 
from  Madrid  and  one  of  the  latest  attrac 
tions  of  the  King's  House;  but  it  was  his 
pride,  when  he  discovered  that  Nell's 
sharp  eyes  had  found  him  out,  that  suf 
fered,  not  his  conscience.  Was  he  not  the 
fascinating  aclor-manager  of  the  House? 
Could  he  prevent  the  ladies  loving  him? 
Must  he  be  accused  of  not  loving  Nell, 
simply  because  his  charms  had  edified  the 
shapely  new-comer?  Nell's  rebuke  had 
depressed  him,  but  there  was  a  smoul 
dering  fire  within.  "  'Slife! "  he  muttered. 
"  If  I  do  not  steal  my  way  into  Nell's 
heart,  I  '11  abandon  the  rouge-box  and  till 
the  soil."  [  62  1 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry 


As  he  approached  his  tiring-room,  he 
bethought  him  that  it  would  be  well  first 
to  have  an  oversight  of  the  theatre.  He 
turned  accordingly  and  pulled  open  the 
door  that  led  to  the  stage. 

As  he  did  so,  a  figure  fell  into  the 
greenroom,  grasping  devotedly  a  violin, 
lest  his  fall  might  injure  it.  Strings  had 
been  biding  his  time,  waiting  an  oppor 
tunity  to  see  Nell,  and  had  fallen  asleep 
behind  the  door. 

"How  now,  dog!"  exclaimed  the 
manager  when  he  saw  who  the  intruder 
was. 

Strings  hastened  to  his  feet  and  hob 
bled  across  the  room. 

"  I  told  you  not  to  set  foot  here  again," 
shouted  Hart,  following  him  virulently. 

Strings  bowed  meekly.  "  I  thought  the 
King's  House  in  need  of  a  player;  so  I 
came  back,  sir,"  said  he. 

Hart  was  instantly  beside  himself. 
"Zounds!"  he  stormed.  "I  have  had 
enough  impudence  to  contend  with  to 
night.  Begone;  or  up  you  go  for  a  va 
grant." 


Mistress  Nell 


"  I  called  on  Mistress  Gwyn,  sir,"  ex 
plained  Strings. 

"Mistress  Gwyn  does  not  receive 
drunkards,"  fiercely  retorted  Hart;  and 
he  started  hastily  to  the  stage-door  and 
called  loudly  for  his  force  of  men  to  put 
the  fiddler  out. 

Nell's  door  was  still  ajar.  She  had  re 
moved  the  roses  from  her  hair  and  dress. 
She  caught  at  once  her  name.  Indeed, 
there  was  little  that  went  on  which  Nell 
did  not  see  or  hear,  even  though  walls 
intervened.  "Who  takes  my  name  in 
vain?"  she  called.  Her  head  popped 
through  the  opening  left  by  the  door, 
and  she  scanned  the  room. 

As  her  eye  fell  upon  the  old  fiddler, 
who  had  often  played  songs  and  dances 
for  her  in  days  gone  by,  a  cry  of  joy  came 
from  her  lips.  She  rushed  into  the  green 
room  and  threw  both  arms  about  Strings's 
neck.  "My  old  comrade,  as  I  live,"  she 
cried,  dancing  about  him.  "I  am  joyed 
to  see  you,  Strings!" 

Turning,  she  saw  the  manager  eying 
them  with  fiery  glances.  She  knew  the 


A  Merry  Ta/e  of  a  Merry  "Time 

situation  and  the  feeling.  "Jack,  is  it  not 
good  to  have  Strings  back?"  she  asked, 
sweetly. 

Hart's  face  grew  livid  with  anger.  He 
could  see  the  merry  devil  dancing  in  her 
eye  and  on  her  tongue.  He  knew  the  hoy 
den  well.  "Gad,  I  will  resign  manage 
ment."  He  turned  on  his  heel,  entered  his 
tiring-room  and  closed  the  door,  none  too 
gently.  He  feared  to  tarry  longer,  lest  he 
might  say  too  much. 

Nell  broke  into  a  merry  laugh;  and 
the  fiddler  chuckled. 

"You  desert  me  these  days,  Strings," 
she  said,  as  she  leaned  against  the  table 
and  fondly  eyed  the  wayfarer  of  the  tat 
tered  garments  and  convivial  spirits. 

"  I  don't  love  your  lackey-in-waiting, 
Mistress  Nell,"  said  he,  with  a  wink  in 
the  direction  of  the  departed  manager. 

"Poor  Jack.  Never  mind  him,"  she 
said,  with  a  roguish  laugh,  though  with 
no  touch  of  malice  in  it,  for  there  was 
devil  without  malice  in  Nell's  soul. 

As  she  again  sought  the  eyes  of  the 
fiddler,  her  face  grew  thoughtful.  She 


Mistress  Nell 


spoke — hesitated  —  and  then  spoke  again, 
as  if  the  thought  gave  her  pain.  "  Have 
you  kept  your  word  to  me,  Strings,  and 
stopped  —  drinking? "  she  asked.  The  last 
word  fell  faintly,  tremblingly,  from  her 
lips — almost  inaudibly. 

"  Mistress  Nell,  I  —  I  —  "  Strings's  eyes 
fell  quickly. 

Nell's  arm  was  lovingly  about  him  in 
an  instant.  "There,  there;  don't  tell  me, 
Strings.  Try  again,  and  come  and  see  me 
often."  There  was  a  delicacy  in  her  voice 
and  way  more  beautiful  than  the  finest 
acling.  The  words  had  hurt  her  more 
than  him.  She  changed  her  manner  in  an 
instant. 

Not  so  with  Strings.  The  tears  were 
in  his  eyes.  "Mistress  Nell,  you  are  so 
good  to  me,"  he  said;  "and  I  am  such  a 
wretch." 

"  So  you  are,  Strings,"  and  she  laughed 
merrily. 

"  I  have  taught  my  little  ones  at  home 
who  it  is  that  keeps  the  wolf  from  our 
door,"  he  continued. 

"  Not  a  word  of  that! "  she  exclaimed, 
[  66] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

reprovingly.  "Poor  old  fellow!"  Her 
eyes  grew  big  and  bright  as  she  reflected 
on  the  days  she  had  visited  the  fiddler's 
home  and  on  the  happiness  her  gifts  had 
brought  his  children.  For  her,  giving  was 
better  than  receiving.  The  feeling  sprang 
from  the  fulness  of  her  own  joy  at  see 
ing  those  about  her  happy,  and  not  from 
the  teachings  of  priests  or  prelates.  Dame 
Nature  was  her  sole  preceptor  in  this. 

"I'll  bring  the  babes  another  sugar 
plum  to-morrow.  I  haven't  a  farthing 
to-night.  Moll  ran  away  with  the  earn 
ings,  and  there  is  no  one  left  to  rob,"  she 
said. 

"  Heyday,"  and  she  ran  lightly  to  the 
vase  and  caught  up  the  flowers. "  Take  the 
flowers  to  the  bright  eyes,  to  make  them 
brighter."  They  would  at  least  add  cheer 
fulness  to  the  room  where  Strings  lived 
until  she  could  bring  something  better. 

As  she  looked  at  the  roses,  she  began  to 
realize  how  dear  they  were  becoming  to 
herself,  for  they  were  the  King's  gift;  and 
her  heart  beat  quickly  and  she  touched 
the  great  red  petals  lovingly  with  her  lips. 


Mistress  Nell 


Strings  took  the  flowers  awkwardly; 
and,  as  he  did  so,  something  fell  upon 
the  floor.  He  knelt  and  picked  it  up,  in 
his  eagerness  letting  the  roses  fall. 

"A  ring  among  the  flowers,  Mistress 
Nell,"  he  cried. 

"A  ring!"  she  exclaimed,  taking  the 
jewel  quickly.  Her  lips  pressed  the  set 
ting.  "Bless  his  heart !  A  ring  from  his 
finger,"  she  continued  half  aloud.  "Is  it 
not  handsome,  Strings?"  Her  eyes  spar 
kled  brightly  and  there  was  a  triumphant 
smile  upon  her  lips. 

The  fiddler's  face,  however,  was  grave; 
his  eyes  were  on  the  floor. 

"  How  many  have  rings  like  that,  while 
others  starve,"  he  mused,  seriously. 

Nell  held  the  jewel  at  arm's  length 
and  watched  its  varying  brightness  in  the 
candle-light.  "We  can  moralize,  now  we 
have  the  ring,"  she  said,  by  way  of  re 
joinder,  then  broke  into  a  ringing  laugh 
at  her  own  way-of-the-world  philoso 
phizing.  " Bless  the  giver! "  she  added,  in 
a  mood  of  rhapsody. 

She  turned,  only  again  to  observe  the 
[  68  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

sad  countenance  of  Strings.  "Alack-a- 
day !  Why  do  you  not  take  the  nosegay? " 
she  asked,  wonderingly;  for  she  herself 
was  so  very  happy  that  she  could  not  see 
why  Strings  too  should  not  be  so. 

"  It  will  not  feed  my  little  ones,  Mis 
tress  Nell,"  he  answered,  sadly. 

Nell's  heart  was  touched  in  an  instant. 
"Too  true!"  she  said,  sympathetically, 
falling  on  her  knee  and  lovingly  gathering 
up  the  roses.  "Flowers  and  Music  feed 
naught  but  Love,  and  often  then  Love 
goes  hungry  —  very  hungry."  Her  voice 
was  so  sweet  and  tender  that  it  seemed  as 
though  the  old  viol  had  caught  the  notes. 

"Last  night,  Mistress  Nell,"  said 
Strings,  "the  old  fiddle  played  its  sweet 
est  melody  for  them,  but  they  cried  as  if 
their  tiny  hearts  would  break.  They  were 
starving,  and  I  had  nothing  but  music 
for  them." 

" Starving! "  Nell  listened  to  the  word 
as  though  at  first  she  did  not  realize  its 
meaning.  "What  can  I  send?"  she  cried, 
looking  about  in  vain  and  into  her  tiring- 
room. 


Mistress  Nell 


Her  eyes  fell  suddenly  upon  the  rich 
jewel  upon  her  finger.  "No,  no;  I  can 
not  think  of  that,"  she  thought. 

Then  the  word  "starving"  came  back 
to  her  again  with  all  its  force.  "  Starv 
ing!"  Her  imagination  pictured  all  its 
horrors.  "Starving"  seemed  written  on 
every  wall  and  on  the  ceiling.  It  pierced 
her  heart  and  brain.  "Yes,  I  will,"  she 
exclaimed,  wildly.  "Here,  Strings,  old 
fellow,  take  the  ring  to  the  babes,  to  cut 
their  teeth  on." 

Strings  stood  aghast.  "No,  Mistress 
Nell;  it  is  a  present.  You  must  not,"  he 
protested. 

"There  are  others  where  that  came 
from,"  generously  laughed  Nell. 

"You  must  not;  you  are  too  kind,"  he 
continued,  firmly. 

"Pooh,  pooh!  I  insist,"  said  Nell  as 
she  forced  the  jewel  upon  him.  "It  will 
make  a  pretty  mouthful;  and,  besides, 
I  do  not  want  my  jewels  to  outshine 
me." 

Strings  would  have  followed  her  and 
insisted  upon  her  taking  back  the  beau- 

[  7°  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

tiful  gift,  but  Nell  was  gone  in  an  instant 
and  her  door  closed. 

"To  cut  their  teeth  on!"  he  repeated 
as  he  placed  the  jewelled  ring  wonder- 
ingly  upon  his  bow-finger  and  watched  it 
sparkle  and  laugh  in  the  light  as  he  pre 
tended  to  play  a  tune.  "  She  is  always  jok 
ing  like  that;  Heaven  reward  her." 

He  stood  lost  in  the  realization  of  sud 
den  affluence. 

Buckingham  entered  the  room  from 
the  stage-door.  His  eyes  were  full  of  ex 
citement.  "The  audience  are  wild  over 
Nell,  simply  wild,"  he  exclaimed  in  his 
enthusiasm,  unconscious  of  the  fact  that 
he  had  an  auditor,  who  was  equally  ob 
livious  of  his  lordship's  presence.  "Gad," 
he  continued,  rapturously,  half  aloud, 
half  to  himself,  "when  they  are  stum 
bling  home  through  London  fog,  the 
great  comedienne  will  be  playing  o'er  the 
love-scenes  with  Buckingham  in  a  cosy 
corner  of  an  inn.  She  will  not  dare  deny 
my  bid  to  supper,  with  all  her  impudence. 
Un  petit  souper!"  He  broke  into  a  laugh. 
"'Tis  well  Old  Rowley  was  too  en- 

' 


Mistress  Nell 


gaged  to  look  twice  at  Nelly's  eyes,"  he 
thought.  "  His  Majesty  shall  never  meet 
the  wench  at  arm's  length,  an  I  can 
help  it." 

He  observed  or  rather  became  aware 
for  the  first  time  that  there  was  another 
occupant  of  the  room. 

"Ah,  sirrah,"  he  called,  without  not 
ing  the  character  of  his  companion,  "in 
form  Mistress  Nell,  Buckingham  is  wait- 
ing." 

Strings  looked  up.  He  seemed  to  have 
grown  a  foot  in  contemplation  of  his 
sudden  wealth.  Indeed,  each  particular 
tatter  on  his  back  seemed  to  have  assumed 
an  independent  air. 

"Inform  her  yourself!"  he  declared; 
and  his  manner  might  well  have  become 
the  dress  of  Buckingham.  "Lord  Strings 
is  not  your  lackey  this  season." 

Buckingham  gazed  at  him  in  aston 
ishment,  followed  by  amusement.  "  Lord 
Strings!"  he  observed.  "Lord  Rags!" 

Strings  approached  his  lordship  with 
a  familiar,  princely  air.  "How  does  that 
look  on  my  bow-finger,  my  lord? "  and  he 

[  72  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

flourished  his  hand  wearing  the  ring  where 
Buckingham  could  well  observe  it. 

His  lordship  started.  "The  King's 
ring! "  he  would  have  exclaimed,  had  not 
the  diplomat  in  his  nature  restrained  him. 
"A  fine  stone!"  he  said  merely.  "How 
came  you  by  it?" 

"  Nell  gave  it  to  me,"  Strings  answered. 

Buckingham  nearly  revealed  himself  in 
his  astonishment.  "Nell!"  he  muttered; 
and  his  face  grew  black  as  he  wondered 
if  his  Majesty  had  out-generalled  him. 
"  Damme,"  he  observed  aloud,  inspecting 
the  ring  closely,  "  I  have  taken  a  fancy  to 
this  gem." 

"So  have  I,"  ejaculated  Strings,  as  he 
avoided  his  lordship  and  strutted  across 
the  room. 

"  I  '11  give  you  fifty  guineas  for  it,"  said 
Buckingham,  following  him  more  eagerly 
than  the  driver  of  a  good  bargain  is  wont. 

Strings  stood  nonplussed.  "  Fifty  guin 
eas!"  he  exclaimed,  aghast.  This  was 
more  money  than  the  fiddler  had  ever 
thought  existed.  "  Now? "  he  asked,  won- 
deringly. 

[73  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"  Now,"  replied  his  lordship,  who  pro 
ceeded  at  once  to  produce  the  glittering 
coins  and  toss  them  temptingly  before  the 
fiddler's  eyes. 

"Oons,  Nell  surely  meant  me  to  sell 
it,"  he  cried  as  he  eagerly  seized  the  gold 
and  fed  his  eyes  upon  it.  "  Odsbud,  I  al 
ways  did  love  yellow."  He  tossed  some  of 
the  coins  in  the  air  and  caught  them  with 
the  dexterity  of  a  juggler. 

Buckingham  grew  impatient.  He  de 
sired  a  delivery.  "Give  me  the  ring,"  he 
demanded. 

Strings  looked  once  more  at  the  glitter 
ing  gold;  and  visions  of  the  plenty  which 
it  insured  to  his  little  home,  to  say  nothing 
of  a  flagon  or  two  of  good  brown  ale  which 
could  be  had  by  himself  and  his  boon  com 
rades  without  disparagement  to  the  din 
ners  of  the  little  ones,  came  before  him.  If 
he  had  ever  possessed  moral  courage,  it 
was  gone  upon  the  instant.  "Done!"  he 
exclaimed.  "  Oons,  fifty  guineas! "  and  he 
handed  the  ring  to  Buckingham. 

The  fiddler  was  still  absorbed  in  his 
possessions,  whispering  again  and  again 

[  74] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

to  the  round  bits  of  yellow:  "My  little 
bright-eyes  will  not  go  to  bed  hungry 
to-night!"  when  Manager  Hart  entered 
proudly  from  his  tiring-room,  dressed  to 
leave  the  theatre. 

Buckingham  nodded  significantly. 
"Not  a  word  of  this,"  he  said,  indi 
cating  the  ring,  which  he  had  quickly 
transferred  to  his  own  finger,  turning  the 
jewel  so  that  it  could  not  be  observed. 

"'Sdeath,  you  still  here?"  said  Hart, 
sharply,  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  fiddler. 

Strings  straightened  up  and  puffed 
with  the  pomposity  and  pride  of  a  landed 
proprietor.  He  shook  his  newly  acquired 
possessions  until  the  clinking  of  the  gold 
was  plainly  audible  to  the  manager. 

"  Still  here,  Master  Hart,  negotiating. 
When  you  are  pressed  for  coin,  call  on 
me,  Master  Hart.  I  run  the  Exchequer," 
he  said,  patronizingly.  It  was  humorous 
to  see  his  air  of  sweeping  condescension 
toward  the  tall  and  dignified  manager  of 
the  theatre  who  easily  overtopped  him  by 
a  head. 

"Gold!"  exclaimed  Hart,  as  he  ob- 

[75  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


served  the  glitter  of  the  guineas  in  the  can 
dle-light.  His  eyes  turned  quickly  and  sus 
piciously  upon  the  lordly  Buckingham. 

There  was  nothing,  however,  in  his 
lordship's  face  to  indicate  that  he  was 
aware  even  of  the  existence  of  the  fiddler 
or  of  his  gold.  He  sat  by  the  table,  leaning 
carelessly  upon  it,  his  face  filled  with  an 
expression  of  supreme  satisfaction.  He  had 
the  attitude  of  one  who  was  waiting  for 
somebody  or  something  and  confidently 
expected  not  to  be  disappointed. 

"Sup  with  me,  Hart,"  continued 
Strings,  with  the  air  of  a  boon  com 
rade.  "Sup  with  me  —  venison,  capons, 
and  —  Epsom  water." 

"  Thank  you,  I  am  engaged  to  supper," 
replied  Hart,  contemptuously,  brushing 
his  cloak  where  it  had  been  touched  by 
the  fiddler,  as  if  his  fingers  had  contami 
nated  it. 

The  insult  clearly  observable  in  the 
manager's  tone,  however,  had  no  effect 
whatever  upon  Strings.  He  tossed  his  head 
proudly  and  said  indifferently :  "  Oh,  very 
well.  Strings  will  sup  with  Strings.  My 

[  76  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

coach,  my  coach,  I  say.  Drive  me  to  my 
bonnie  babes!" 

He  pushed  open  the  door  with  a  lordly 
air  and  passed  out;  and,  for  some  seconds, 
they  heard  a  mingling  of  repeated  de 
mands  for  the  coach  and  a  strain  of  music 
which  sounded  like  "Away  dull  care; 
prythee  away  from  me." 

Buckingham  had  observed  the  fiddler's 
tilt  with  the  manager  and  the  royal  exit 
of  the  ragged  fellow  with  much  amuse 
ment.  "A  merry  wag!  Who  is  that?"  he 
asked,  as  Strings's  voice  grew  faint  in  the 
entry-way. 

Hart  was  strutting  aclor-fashion  before 
the  mirror,  arranging  his  curls  to  hang 
gracefully  over  his  forehead  and  tilting 
now  and  again  the  big  plumed  hat.  "A 
knave  of  fortune,  it  seems,"  he  answered 
coolly  and  still  suspiciously. 

"Family?"  asked  Buckingham,  indif 
ferently. 

"Twins,  I  warrant,"  replied  Hart,  in 
an  irritated  tone. 

Buckingham  chuckled  softly. 

"No  wonder  he's  tattered  and  gray," 

[  77  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


he  declared,  humorously  philosophizing 
upon  Hart's  reply,  though  it  was  evident 
that  Hart  himself  was  too  much  chafed 
by  the  presence  of  his  lordship  in  the 
greenroom  after  the  play  to  know  what 
he  really  had  said. 

An  ominous  coolness  now  pervaded 
the  atmosphere.  Buckingham  sat  by  the 
table,  impatiently  tapping  the  floor  with 
his  boot,  his  eyes  growing  dark  at  the 
delay.  Hart  still  plumed  himself  before 
the  mirror.  His  dress  was  rich;  his  sword 
was  well  balanced,  a  Damascus  blade;  his 
cloak  hung  gracefully;  his  big  black  hat 
and  plumes  were  jaunty.  He  had,  too, 
vigour  in  his  step.  With  it  all,  however, 
he  was  a  social  outcast,  and  he  felt  it, 
while  his  companion,  whose  faults  of  na 
ture  were  none  the  less  glaring  than  his 
own,  was  almost  the  equal  of  a  king. 

There  was  a  tap  at  Nell's  door.  It  was 
the  call-boy,  who  had  slipped  unobserved 
into  the  room. 

"What  is  it,  Dick?"  asked  Nell, 
sweetly,  as  she  opened  the  door  slightly 
to  inspect  her  visitor. 

[  78  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"  A  message,  —  very  important,"  whis 
pered  Dick,  softly,  as  he  passed  a  note 
within. 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  actress;  and 
the  door  closed  again. 

Dick  was  about  to  depart,  when  the 
alert  Buckingham,  rising  nastily  from  his 
seat,  called  him. 

"That  was  Nell's  voice?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  my  lord.  She's  dressing,"  an 
swered  Dick.  "Good  night,  Master 
Hart,"  he  added,  as  he  saw  the  man 
ager. 

Hart,  however,  was  not  in  a  good  hu 
mour  and  turned  sharply  upon  him.  Dick 
vanished. 

"  She  will  be  out  shortly,  my  lord,"  the 
manager  observed  to  Buckingham,  some 
what  coldly.  "But  it  will  do  you  little 
good,"  he  thought,  as  he  reflected  upon 
his  conversation  with  Nell. 

Buckingham  leaned  lazily  over  the 
back  of  a  chair  and  replied  confidently, 
knowing  that  his  speech  would  be  no 
balm  to  the  irate  manager:  "Nell  always 
keeps  her  engagements  religiously  with 

[79  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


me.  We  are  to  sup  together  to-night, 
Hart." 

"Odso!"  retorted  the  other,  drawing 
himself  up  to  his  full  height.  "You  will 
be  disappointed,  methinks." 

"I  trow  not,"  Buckingham  observed, 
with  a  smile  which  made  Hart  wince. 
"Pepys's  wife  has  him  mewed  up  at 
home  when  Nelly  plays,  and  the  King 
is  tied  to  other  apron-strings."  His  lord 
ship  chuckled  as  he  bethought  him  how 
cleverly  he  had  managed  that  his  Majesty 
be  under  the  proper  influence.  "  What 
danger  else?"  he  inquired,  cuttingly. 

Though  the  words  were  mild,  the  feel 
ings  of  the  two  men  were  at  white-heat. 

"Your  lordship's  hours  are  too  valu 
able  to  waste,"  politely  suggested  th'e 
manager.  "I  happen  to  know  Mistress 
Gwyn  sups  with  another  to-night." 

"Another?"  sneered  his  lordship. 

"Another  !"  hotly  repeated  the  aftor. 

"We  shall  see,  friend  Hart,"  said 
Buckingham,  in  a  tone  no  less  agreeable, 
with  difficulty  restraining  his  feelings. 

He  threw  himself  impatiently  into  a 

[  8°  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

big  arm-chair,  which  he  had  swung 
around  angrily,  so  that  its  back  was  to 
the  manager. 

The  insult  was  more  than  Hart  could 
bear.  He  also  seized  a  chair,  and  vented  his 
vengeance  upon  it.  Almost  hurled  from 
its  place,  it  fell  back  to  back  with  Buck 
ingham's. 

"  We  shall  see,  my  lord,"  he  said  as  he 
likewise  angrily  took  his  seat  and  folded 
his  arms. 

It  was  like  "The  Schism"  of  Vibert. 

It  is  difficult  to  tell  what  would  have 
been  the  result,  had  the  place  been  dif 
ferent.  Each  knew  that  Nell  was  just  be 
yond  her  door;  each  hesitated;  and  each, 
with  bitterness  in  his  heart,  held  on  to 
himself.  They  sat  like  sphinxes. 

Suddenly,  Nell's  door  slightly  opened. 
She  was  dressed  to  leave  the  theatre.  In 
her  hand  she  held  a  note. 

"A  fair  message,  on  my  honour !  Worth 
reading  twice  or  even  thrice,"  she  rogu 
ishly  exclaimed  unto  her  maid  as  she 
directed  her  to  hold  a  candle  nearer 
that  she  might  once  again  spell  out  its 

[  8'  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


words.  "'To  England's  idol,  the  divine 
Eleanor  Gwyn.'  A  holy  apt  beginning, 
by  the  mass!  'My  coach  awaits  you  at 
the  stage-door.  We  will  toast  you  to 
night  at  Whitehall." 

Nell's  eyes  seemed  to  drink  in  the 
words,  and  it  was  her  heart  which  said: 
"  Long  live  his  Majesty." 

She  took  the  King's  roses  in  her  arms; 
the  Duke's  roses,  she  tossed  upon  the  floor. 

The  manager  awoke  as  from  a  trance. 
"You  will  not  believe  me,"  he  said  to 
Buckingham,  confidently.  "Here  comes 
the  arbiter  of  your  woes,  my  lord."  He 
arose  quickly. 

"It  will  not  be  hard,  methinks,  sir,  to 
decide  between  a  coronet  and  a  player's 
tinsel  crown,"  observed  his  princely  rival, 
with  a  sneer,  as  he  too  arose  and  assumed 
an  attitude  of  waiting. 

"  Have  acare,mylord.  I  may  forget — " 
Hart's  fingers  played  upon  his  sword-hilt. 

"Your  occupation,  sir?"  jeered  Buck 
ingham. 

"Aye;  my  former  occupation  of  a  sol 
dier";  and  Hart's  sword  sprang  from  its 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

scabbard,  with  a  dexterity  that  proved 
that  he  had  not  forgotten  the  trick  of  war. 

Buckingham  too  would  have  drawn, 
but  a  merry  voice  stayed  him. 

"  How  now,  gentlemen? "  sprang  from 
Nell's  rosy  lips,  as  she  came  between 
them,  a  picture  of  roguish  beauty. 

Hart's  pose  in  an  instant  was  that  of 
apology.  "Pardon,  Nell,"  he  exclaimed, 
lifting  his  hat  and  bowing  in  courtly 
fashion.  "A  small  difference  of  opinion; 
naught  else." 

"Between  friends,"  replied  Nell,  re 
provingly. 

"By  the  Gods,"  cried  Buckingham, — 
and  his  hat  too  was  in  the  air  and  his 
knee  too  was  bent  before  the  theatre- 
queen, —  "the  rewards  are  worth  more 
than  word-combats." 

"  Pshaw ! "  said  Nell,  as  she  hugged  the 
King's  roses  tighter  in  her  arms.  "True 
Englishmen  fight  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
not  face  to  face." 

"In  this  case,"  replied  his  lordship, 
with  the  air  of  a  conqueror,  "the  booty 
cannot  be  amicably  distributed." 

[  83  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"  Oh, ho !  "cried  Nell. "  Brave  generals, 
quarrelling  over  the  spoils.  Pooh!  There 
is  no  girl  worth  fighting  for — that  is,  not 
over  one !  Buckingham !  Jack !  For  shame ! 
What  coquette  kindles  this  hot  blood?" 

"The  fairest  maid  in  England,"  said 
Hart,  with  all  the  earnestness  of  convic 
tion,  and  with  all  the  courtesy  of  the 
theatre,  which  teaches  courtesy. 

"The  dearest  girl  in  all  this  world," 
said  Buckingham  as  quickly;  for  he  too 
must  bow  if  he  would  win. 

"  How  stupid ! "  lisped  Nell,  with  a  look 
of  baby-innocence.  "You  must  mean  me! 
Who  else  could  answer  the  description? 
A  quarrel  over  poor  me !  This  is  delicious. 
I  love  a  fight.  Out  with  your  swords  and 
to't  like  men!  To  the  victor!  Come, 
name  the  quarrel." 

"This  player — "  began  his  lordship, 
hotly.  He  caught  the  quick  gleam  in 
Nell's  eyes  and  hesitated.  "  I  mean,"  he 
substituted,  apologetically, "  Master  Hart 
— labours  under  the  misapprehension  that 
you  sup  with  him  to-night." 

"Nell,"  asserted  the  manager,  defen- 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

sively,  "it  is  his  lordship  who  suffers 
from  the  delusion  that  the  first  aclress 
of  England  sups  with  him  to-night." 

"My  arm  and  coach  are  yours,  ma- 
dame,"  pleaded  his  lordship,  as  he  gal 
lantly  offered  an  arm. 

"  Pardon,  my  lord ;  Nell,  my  arm ! "  said 
Hart. 

"Heyday!"  cried  the  witch,  bewitch- 
ingly.  "  Was  ever  maid  so  nobly  squired? 
This  is  an  embarrassment  of  riches." 
She  looked  longingly  at  the  two  attend 
ing  gallants.  There  was  something  in  her 
voice  that  might  be  mockery  or  that 
might  be  love.  Only  the  devil  in  her 
eyes  could  tell. 

"  Gentlemen,  you  tear  my  heart 
strings,"  she  continued.  "  How  can  I 
choose  between  such  loves?  To-night,  I 
sup  at  Whitehall ! "  and  she  darted  quickly 
toward  the  door. 

"Whitehall!"  the  rivals  cried,  aghast. 

"Aye,  Whitehall  —  with  the  King!" 

There  was  a  wild,  hilarious  laugh,  and 
she  was  gone. 

Buckingham  and  Hart  stood  looking 


Mistress  Nell 


into  each  other's  face.  They  heard  the 
sound  of  coach-wheels  rapidly  departing 
in  the  street. 


$mg 


CHAPTER    V 


/?  was  never  treason  to  steal  a  King's  kisses. 

J\  YEAR  and  more  had  flown. 

It  was  one  of  those  glorious  moon-lit 
nights  in  the  early  fall  when  there  is  a 
crispness  in  the  air  which  lends  an  edge 
to  life. 

St.  James's  Park  was  particularly  beau 
tiful.  The  giant  oaks  with  their  hundreds 
of  years  of  story  written  in  their  rings 
lifted  high  their  spreading  branches,  laden 
with  leaves,  which  shimmered  in  the 
light.  The  historic  old  park  seemed  to  be 
made  up  of  patches  of  day  and  night.  In 
the  open,  one  might  read  in  the  mellow 
glow  of  the  harvest-moon;  in  the  shade  of 
one  of  its  oaks,  a  thief  might  safely  hide. 

Facing  on  the  park,  there  stood  a  house 
of  Elizabethan  architecture.  Along  its 
wrinkled,  ivy-mantled  wall  ran  a  terrace- 
like  balustrade,  where  one  might  walk  and 
enjoy  the  night  without  fear. 

[  8?  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


The  house  was  well  defined  by  the  rays 
of  the  moon,  which  seemed  to  dance  upon 
it  in  a  halo  of  mirth;  and  from  the  park, 
below  the  terrace,  came  the  soft  notes  of 
a  violin,  tenderly  picked. 

None  other  than  Strings  was  sitting 
astride  of  a  low  branch  of  an  oak,  look 
ing  up  at  a  window,  like  some  guardian 
spirit  from  the  devil-land,  singing  in  his 
quaintly  uncluous  way: 

"  Four  and  twenty  fiddlers  all  in  a  row, 
And  there  was  fiddle-fiddle^  and  twice  fiddle- 
fiddler 

"  How 's  that  for  a  serenade  to  Mistress 
Nell?"  he  asked  himself  as  he  secured  a 
firm  footing  on  the  ground  and  slung  his 
fiddle  over  his  back.  "  She  don't  know  it 's 
for  her,  but  the  old  viol  and  old  Strings 
know."  He  came  to  a  stand-still  and 
winced.  "Oons,  my  old  wound  again," 
he  said,  with  a  sharp  cry,  followed  as 
quickly  by  a  laugh.  His  eyes  still  wan 
dered  along  the  balustrade,  as  eagerly  as 
some  young  Romeo  at  the  balcony  of  his 
Juliet.  "  I  wish  she  'd  walk  her  terrace  to- 
[  88  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  'Time 

night,"  he  sighed,  "where  we  could  see 
her — the  lovely  lady!" 

His  rhapsody  was  suddenly  broken  in 
upon  by  the  approach  of  some  one  down 
the  path.  He  glided  into  the  shadow  of 
an  oak  and  none  too  quickly. 

From  the  obscurity  of  the  trees,  into 
the  open,  a  chair  was  swiftly  borne,  by 
the  side  of  which  ran  a  pretty  page  of 
tender  years,  yet  well  schooled  in  courtly 
wisdom.  The  lovely  occupant  leaned  for 
ward  and  motioned  to  the  chairmen,  who 
obediently  rested  and  assisted  her  to  alight. 

"Retire  beneath  the  shadow  of  the 
trees,"  she  whispered.  "Have  a  care;  no 
noise." 

The  chairmen  withdrew  quietly,  but 
within  convenient  distance,  to  await  her 
bidding. 

Strings's  heart  quite  stopped  beating. 
"The  Duchess  of  Portsmouth  at  Mistress 
Nell's!"  he  said,  almost  aloud  in  his  ex 
citement.  "Then  the  devil  must  be  to 
pay ! "  and  he  slipped  well  behind  the  oak- 
trunk  again. 

Portsmouth's  eyes  snapped  with  French 

[  89  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


fire  as  she  glanced  up  at  Nell's  terrace. 
Then  she  turned  to  the  page  by  her  side. 
"His  Majesty  came  this  path  before?" 
she  asked,  with  quick,  French  accent. 

"Yes,  your  grace,"  replied  the  page. 

"And  up  this  trellis?" 

"Yes,  your  grace." 

"Again  to-night?" 

"I  cannot  tell,  your  grace,"  replied 
the  lad.  "I  followed  as  you  bade  me;  but 
the  King's  legs  were  so  long,  you  see,  I 
lost  him." 

Portsmouth  smiled.  "  Softly,  pretty 
one,"  she  said.  "Watch  if  he  comes  and 
warn  me;  for  we  may  have  passed  him." 

The  lad  ran  gaily  down  the  path  to 
perform  her  bidding. 

"  State-business! "  she  muttered,  as  she 
reflected  bitterly  upon  the  King's  late 
excuses  to  her.  "  Mon  Dieu,  does  he  think 
me  a  country  wench?  I  was  schooled  at 
Louis's  court."  Her  eyes  searched  the 
house  from  various  points  of  advantage. 
"A  light!"  she  exclaimed,  as  a  candle 
burned  brightly  from  a  window,  like  a 
spark  of  gold  set  in  the  silver  of  the  night. 

[  90  ] 


A  Merry  T'ale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"Would  I  had  an  invisible  cloak."  She 
tiptoed  about  a  corner  of  the  wall  — 
woman-like,  to  see  if  she  could  see,  not 
Nell,  but  Charles. 

Scarcely  had  she  disappeared  when  a 
second  figure  started  up  in  the  moonlight, 
and  a  gallant  figure,  too.  It  was  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham.  "Not  a  mouse  stirring," 
he  reflecled,  glancing  at  the  terrace. "  Fair 
minx,  you  will  not  long  refuse  Bucking 
ham's  overtures.  Come,  Nelly,  thy  King 
is  already  half  stolen  away  by  Portsmouth 
of  France,  and  Portsmouth  of  France  is 
our  dear  ally  in  the  great  cause  and  shall 
be  more  so." 

To  his  astonishment,  as  he  drew  nearer, 
he  observed  a  lady,  richly  dressed,  gliding 
between  himself  and  the  terrace.  He 
rubbed  his  eyes  to  see  that  he  was  not 
dreaming.  She  was  there,  however,  and 
a  pretty  armful,  too. 

"  Nell,"  he  chuckled,  as  he  stole  up 
behind  her. 

Portsmouth  meanwhile  had  learned 
that  the  window  was  too  high  to  allow 
her  to  gain  a  view  within  the  dwelling. 

[  91  1 


Mistress  Nell 


She  started  —  observing,  more  by  intui 
tion  than  by  sight,  that  she  was  watched 
—  and  drew  her  veil  closely  about  her 
handsome  features. 

"  Nelly,  Nelly," laughed  Buckingham, 
"I  have  thee,  wench.  Come,  a  kiss!  —  a 
kiss!  Nay,  love;  it  was  never  treason  to 
steal  a  King's  kisses." 

He  seized  her  by  the  arm  and  was  about 
to  kiss  her  when  she  turned  and  threw 
back  her  veil. 

"Buckingham!"  she  said,  suavely. 

"Portsmouth!"  he  exclaimed,  awe 
struck. 

He  gathered  himself  together,  how 
ever,  in  an  instant,  and  added,  as  if  noth 
ing  in  the  world  had  happened:  "An 
unexpected  pleasure,  your  grace." 

"Yes,"  said  she,  with  a  pretty  shrug. 
"I  did  not  know  I  was  so  honoured,  my 
lord." 

"  Or  you  would  not  have  refused  the 
little  kiss?"  he  asked,  suggestively. 

"You  called  me  'Nelly,'  my  lord.  I 
do  not  respond  to  that  name." 

"  Damme,  I  was  never  good  at  names, 

[  92  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Louise,"  said  he,  with  mock-apology, 
"especially  by  moonlight." 

"Buz,  buz!"  she  answered,  with  a 
knowing  gesture  and  a  knowing  look. 
Then,  pointing  toward  the  terrace,  she 
added:  "A  pretty  nest!  A  pretty  bird 
within,  I  warrant.  Her  name?" 

"  Ignorance  well  feigned,"  he  thought. 
He  replied,  however,  most  graciously: 
"Nell  Gwyn." 

"Oh,  ho!  The  King's  favourite,  who 
has  more  power,  they  say,  than  great 
statesmen  —  like  my  lord." 

Her  speech  was  well  defined  to  draw 
out  his  lordship;  but  he  was  wary. 

"  Unless  my  lord  is  guided  by  my  lady, 
as  formerly,"  he  replied,  diplomatically. 

A  look  of  suspicion  crept  into  Ports 
mouth's  face:  but  it  was  not  visible  for 
want  of  contrast;  for  all  things  have  a  per 
verted  look  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

She  had  known  Buckingham  well  at 
Dover.  Their  interests  there  had  been 
one  in  securing  privileges  from  England 
for  her  French  King.  Both  had  been  well 
rewarded  too  for  their  pains.  There  were 

[  93  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


no  proofs,  however,  of  this;  and  where  his 
lordship  stood  to-day,  and  which  cause 
he  would  espouse,  she  did  not  know.  His 
eyes  at  Dover  had  fallen  fondly  upon  her, 
but  men's  eyes  fall  fondly  upon  many  wo 
men,  and  she  would  not  trust  too  much 
until  she  knew  more. 

"My  chairmen  have  set  me  down  at 
the  wrong  door-step,"  she  said,  most 
sweetly.  "  My  lord  longs  for  his  kiss.  Au 
revoir!" 

She  bowed  and  turned  to  depart. 

Buckingham  was  alert  in  an  instant. 
He  knew  not  when  the  opportunity 
might  come  again  to  deal  so  happily 
with  Louis's  emissary  and  the  place  and 
time  of  meeting  had  its  advantages. 

"Prythee  stay,  Duchess.  I  left  the 
merry  hunters,  returning  from  Houns- 
low  Heath,  all  in  Portsmouth's  interest," 
he  said.  "  Is  this  to  be  my  thanks? " 

She  approached  him  earnestly.  "My 
lord  must  explain.  I  am  stupid  in  fitting 
English  facts  to  English  words." 

"Have  you  forgotten  Dover?"  he 
asked,  intensely,  but  subdued  in  voice, 

[  94] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"and  my  pledges  sworn  to?  —  the  treaty 
at  the  Castle?  —  the  Duchess  of  Orleans? 
—  the  Grand  Monarch?" 

"Hush!"  exclaimed  Portsmouth, 
clutching  his  arm  and  looking  cau 
tiously  about. 

"If  my  services  to  you  there  were 
known,"  he  continued,  excitedly,  "  and  to 
the  great  cause  —  the  first  step  in  mak 
ing  England  pensioner  of  France  and 
Holland  the  vassal  of  Louis  —  my  head 
would  pay  the  penalty.  Can  you  not  trust 
me  still?" 

"  You  are  on  strange  ground  to-night," 
suggested  Portsmouth,  tossing  her  head 
impatiently  to  indicate  the  terrace,  as  she 
tried  to  fathom  the  real  man. 

"I  thought  the  King  might  pass  this 
way,  and  came  to  see,"  hastily  explained 
his  lordship,  observing  that  she  was  re 
flecting  upon  the  incongruity  of  his  friend 
ship  for  her  and  of  his  visit  to  Madame 
Gwyn. 

"  And  if  he  did? "  she  asked,  dubiously, 
not  seeing  the  connection. 

"  I  have  a  plan  to  make  his  visits  less 

[95] 


Mistress  Nell 


frequent,  Louise, — for  your  sweet  sake 
and  mine." 

The  man  was  becoming  master.  He 
had  pleased  her,  and  she  was  beginning 
to  believe. 

"Yes?"  she  said,  in  a  way  which 
might  mean  anything,  but  certainly  that 
she  was  listening,  and  intently  listening 
too. 

"  You  have  servants  you  can  trust? "  he 
asked. 

"I  have,"  she  replied  as  quickly;  and 
she  gloried  in  the  thought  that  some,  at 
least  were  as  faithful  as  Louis's  court  af 
forded. 

"They  must  watch  Nell's  terrace  here, 
night  and  day,"  he  almost  commanded  in 
his  eagerness,  "who  comes  out,  who  goes 
in  and  the  hour.  She  may  forget  her  royal 
lover;  and  —  well — we  shall  have  wit 
nesses  in  waiting.  We  owe  this  kindness 
—  to  his  Majesty." 

Portsmouth  shrugged  her  shoulders 
impatiently.  "MonDieu!"  she  said.  "My 
servants  have  watched,  my  lord,  already. 
The  despatches  would  have  been  signed 

[  96  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

and  Louis's  army  on  the  march  against 
the  Dutch  but  for  this  vulgar  player-girl, 
whom  I  have  never  seen.  The  King  for 
gets  all  else." 

The  beautiful  Duchess  was  piqued,  in 
deed,  that  the  English  King  should  be  so 
swayed.  She  felt  that  it  was  a  personal  dis 
grace —  an  insult  to  her  charms  and  to  her 
culture.  She  felt  that  the  court  knew  it 
and  laughed,  and  she  feared  that  Louis 
soon  would  know.  Nell  Gwyn!  How  she 
hated  her — scarce  less  than  she  loved 
Louis  and  her  France. 

"Be  of  good  cheer,"  suggested  Buck 
ingham,  soothingly ;  and  he  half  embraced 
her.  "  My  messenger  shall  await  your  sig 
nal,  to  carry  the  news  to  Louis  and  his 
army." 

"There  is  no  news,"  replied  she,  and 
turned  upon  him  bitterly.  "Charles  evades 
me.  Promise  after  promise  to  sup  with 
me  broken.  I  expecled  him  to-night.  My 
spies  warned  me  he  would  not  come;  that 
he  is  hereabouts  again.  I  followed  myself 
to  see.  I  have  the  papers  with  me  always. 
If  I  can  but  see  the  King  alone,  it  will 

[  97  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


not  take  long  to  dethrone  this  up-start 
queen;  wine,  sweet  words — England's 
sign-manual." 

There  was  a  confident  smile  on  her  lips 
as  she  reflected  upon  her  personal  powers, 
which  had  led  Louis  XIV.  of  France  to 
entrust  a  great  mission  to  her.  His  lord 
ship  sawhis  growing  advantage.  He  would 
make  the  most  of  it. 

"In  the  last  event  you  have  the  ball!" 
he  suggested,  hopefully. 

"Aye,  and  we  shall  be  prepared,"  she 
cried.  "But  Louis  is  impatient  to  strike 
the  blow  for  Empire  unhampered  by 
British  sympathy  for  the  Dutch,  and  the 
ball  is  —  " 

"A  fortnight  off,"  interrupted  Buck 
ingham,  with  a  smile. 

"And  my  messenger  should  begone  to 
night,"  she  continued,  irritably.  She  ap 
proached  him  and  whispered  cautiously: 
"  I  have  to-day  received  another  note  from 
Bouillon.  Louis  relies  upon  me  to  win 
from  Charles  his  consent  to  the  with 
drawal  of  the  British  troops  from  Hol 
land.  This  will  insure  the  fall  of  Luxem- 

[  98  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

bourg  —  the  key  to  our  success.  You  see, 
Buckingham,  I  must  not  fail.  England's 
debasement  shall  be  won." 

There  was  a  whistle  down  the  path. 

"Some  one  comes!"  she  exclaimed. 
"My  chair!" 

The  page,  who  had  given  the  signal, 
came  running  to  her.  Her  chairmen  too 
were  prompt. 

"Join  me,"  she  whispered  to  Bucking 
ham,  as  he  assisted  her  to  her  seat  within. 

"  Later,  Louise,  later,"  he  replied.  "  I 
must  back  to  the  neighbouring  inn,  before 
the  huntsmen  miss  me." 

Portsmouth  waved  to  the  chairmen, 
who  moved  silently  away  among  the 
trees. 

Buckingham  stood  looking  after  them, 
laughing. 

"King  Charles,  a  French  girl  from 
Louis's  court  will  give  me  the  keys  to 
England's  heart  and  her  best  honours,"  he 
muttered. 

He  glanced  once  again  quickly  at  the 
windows  of  the  house,  and  then,  with 
altered  purpose,  swaggered  away  down  a 

[  99  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


side  path.  He  was  well  pleased  with  his 
thoughts,  well  pleased  with  his  chance 
interview  with  the  beautiful  Duchess  and 
well  pleased  with  himself.  His  brain  wove 
and  wove  moonbeam  webs  of  intrigue  as 
he  passed  through  the  light  and  shadow 
of  the  night,  wherein  he  would  lend  a 
helping  hand  to  France  and  secure  gold 
and  power  for  his  pains.  He  had  no  qualms 
of  conscience;  for  must  not  his  estates  be 
kept,  his  dignity  maintained  ?  His  purpose 
was  clear.  He  would  bring  Portsmouth 
and  the  King  closer  together:  and  what 
England  lost,  he  would  gain  —  and,  there 
fore,  England;  for  was  not  he  himself  a 
part  of  England,  and  a  great  part? 
Then  too  he  must  and  would  have  Nell. 


CHAPTER    VI 


Softly  on  tiptoe; 
Here  Nell  doth  lie. 


JL\S  often  happens  in  life,  when  one 
suitor  departs,  another  suitor  knocks; 
and  so  it  happened  on  this  glorious  night. 
The  belated  suitor  was  none  other  than 
Charles,  the  Stuart  King.  He  seemed  in 
the  moonlight  the  picture  of  royalty,  of 
romance,  of  dignity,  of  carelessness,  of  in 
difference —  the  royal  vagabond  of  wit, 
of  humour  and  of  love.  A  well-thumbed 
"Hudibras"  bulged  from  his  pocket.  He 
was  alone,  save  for  some  pretty  spaniels 
that  played  about  him.  He  heeded  them 
not.  His  thoughts  were  of  Nell. 

"  Methought  I  heard  voices  tuned  to 
love,"  he  mused,  as  he  glanced  about. 
"What  knave  has  spied  out  the  secret 
of  her  bower?  Ho,  Rosamond,  my  Rosa 
mond!  Why  came  I  here  again  to-night? 
What  is  there  in  this  girl,  this  Nell?  And 

[     "I     ] 


Mistress  Nell 


yet  her  eyes,  how  like  the  pretty  maid's 
who  passed  me  the  cup  that  day  at  the 
cottage  where  we  rested.  Have  I  lived 
really  to  love — I,  Solomon's  rival  in  the 
entertainment  of  the  fair,  —  to  have  my 
heart-strings  torn  by  this  roguish  player? " 

His  reflections  were  broken  in  upon  by 
the  hunters'  song  in  the  distance.  The 
music  was  so  in  harmony  with  the  night 
that  the  forest  seemed  enchanted. 

"Hush;  music!"  he  exclaimed,  softly, 
as  he  lent  himself  reluctantly  to  the  spell, 
which  pervaded  everything  as  in  a  fairy 
land.  "  Odds,  moonlight  was  once  for  me 
as  well  the  light  for  revels,  bacchanals 
and  frolics;  yet  now  I  linger  another 
evening  by  Nell's  terrace,  mooning  like 
a  lover  o'er  the  memory  of  her  eyes  and 
entranced  by  the  hunters'  song." 

The  singers  were  approaching.  The 
King  stepped  quickly  beneath  the  trellis, 
in  an  angle  of  the  wall,  and  waited.  Their 
song  grew  richer,  as  melodious  as  the 
night,  but  it  struck  a  discord  in  his  soul. 
He  was  thinking  of  a  pair  of  eyes. 

"Cease  those  discordant  jangles,"  he 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

exclaimed  impatiently  to  himself; "  cease, 
I  say!  No  song  except  for  Nell!  Nell! 
Pour  forth  your  sweetest  melody  for 
Nell!" 

The  hunters  stopped  as  by  intuition 
before  the  terrace.  A  goodly  company 
they  were,  indeed;  there  were  James  and 
Rochester  and  others  of  the  court  re 
turning  from  the  day's  hunt.  There  was 
Buckingham  too,  who  had  rejoined 
them  as  they  left  the  inn.  The  music 
died  away. 

"  Whose  voice  was  that  ? "  asked  James, 
as  he  caught  the  sound  of  the  King's 
impatient  exclamation  from  the  corner 
of  the  wall. 

"  Some  dreamer  of  the  night,"  laughed 
Buckingham.  "Yon  lo  ve-sick  fellow,  me  - 
thinks,"  he  continued,  pointing  to  a  fig 
ure,  well  aloof  beneath  the  trees,  who 
was  watching  the  scene  most  jealously. 
It  was  none  other  than  Hart,  who  rarely 
failed  to  have  an  eye  on  Nell's  terrace  and 
who  instantly  stole  away  in  the  darkness. 

"This  is  the  home  of  Eleanor  Gwyn 
we  are  passing,"  said  Rochester,  superflu- 

[   I03  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


ously;  for  all  knew  full  well  that  it  was 
Nelly's  terrace. 

"The  love-lorn  seer  is  wise,"  cried  the 
Duke  of  York,  quite  forgetting  his  frigid 
self  as  he  bethought  him  of  Nell,  and  be 
coming  quite  lover-like,  as  he,  sighing, 
said:  "It  were  well  to  make  peace  with 
Nelly.  Sing,  hunters,  sing!" 

The  command  was  quickly  obeyed  and 
the  voices  well  attuned;  for  none  were 
there  but  worshipped  Nelly. 

Hail  to  the  moonbeams' 

Crystal  spray, 
Nestling  in  Heaven 

AH  the  day, 
Falling  by  night-time, 

Silvery  showers, 
twining  with  love-rhyme 

Nell's  fair  bowers. 

Sing,  hunters,  sing, 

Gently  carolling, 
Here  lies  our  hart — 

Sleeping,  sleeping,  sleeping. 

Hail  to  the  King's  oaks, 
Sentries  blest, 

[    104   ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Spreading  their  branches, 

Guarding  her  rest, 
Telling  the  breezes, 

Hastening  by: 
"Softly  on  tiptoe ; 

Here  Nell  doth  lie." 

Sing,  hunters,  sing. 

Gently  carolling, 
Here  lies  our  hart — 

Sleeping,  sleeping,  sleeping. 

The  King  heard  the  serenade  to  the 
end,  then  stepped  gaily  from  his  hiding- 
place. 

"  Brother  James  under  Nelly's  win 
dow!"  he  said,  with  a  merry  laugh. 

"The  King!"  exclaimed  James,  in 
startled  accents,  as  he  realized  the  pres 
ence  of  his  Majesty  and  the  awkward  po 
sition  in  which  he  and  his  followers  were 
placed. 

"The  King!"  repeated  the  courtiers. 
Hats  were  off  and  knees  were  bent  re 
spectfully. 

"  Brother,"  saluted  Charles,  as  he  em 
braced  the  Duke  of  York  good-naturedly. 

t  105  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


Buckingham  withdrew  a  few  steps.  He 
was  the  most  disturbed  at  the  presence  of 
the  King  at  Nelly's  bower.  "  As  I  feared," 
he  thought.  "Devil  take  his  Majesty's 
meandering  heart." 

"Odsfish,"  laughed  Charles,  "we 
must  guard  our  Nelly,  or  James  and  his 
saintly  followers  will  rob  her  bower  by 
moonlight." 

The  Duke  of  York  assumed  a  devout 
and  dignified  mien.  "  Sire,"  he  attempted 
to  explain,  but  was  interrupted  quickly 
by  his  Majesty. 

"No  apologies,  pious  brother.  God 
never  damned  a  man  for  a  little  irregu 
lar  pleasure." 

There  was  a  tittering  among  the  court 
iers  as  the  King's  words  fell  upon  their 
ears. 

James  continued  to  apologize.  "In 
faith,  we  were  simply  passing — "  he  said. 

Again  he  was  interrupted  by  his  Maj 
esty,  who  was  in  the  best  of  humour  and 
much  pleased  at  the  discomfiture  of  his 
over-religious  brother. 

"Lorenzo  too  was  simply  passing," 
[  106  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

he  observed,  "but  the  fair  Jessica  and 
some  odd  ducats  stuck  to  his  girdle;  and 
the  Jew  will  still  be  tearing  his  hair  long 
after  we  are  dust.  Ah,  Buckingham,  they 
tell  me  you  too  have  a  taste  for  roguish 
Nelly.  Have  a  care!" 

The  King  strode  across  to  Buckingham 
as  he  spoke;  and  while  there  was  humour 
in  his  tone,  there  was  injunction  also. 

Buckingham  was  too  great  a  courtier 
not  to  see  and  feel  it.  He  bowed  respect 
fully,  replying  to  his  Majesty,  "Sire,  I 
would  not  presume  to  follow  the  King's 
eyes,  however  much  I  admire  their  taste." 

"Tis  well,"  replied  his  Majesty, 
pointedly,  "lest  they  lead  thee  abroad 
on  a  sleeveless  mission." 

Others  had  travelled  upon  such  mis 
sions;  Buckingham  knew  it  well. 

"  But  what  does  your  Majesty  here  to 
night,  if  we  dare  ask? "  questioned  James, 
who  had  just  bethought  him  how  to  turn 
the  tables  upon  the  King. 

Charles  looked  at  his  brother  quizzi 
cally.  "Humph!"  he  exclaimed,  in  his 
peculiar  way.  "  Feeding  my  ducks  in  yon- 

[   I07  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


der  pond."  His  staff  swept  indefinitely 
toward  the  park. 

"Hunting  with  us  were  nobler  busi 
ness,  Sire,"  suggested  James,  decisively. 

"  Not  so,"  replied  the  King,  quite  seri 
ously.  "  My  way  —  I  learn  to  legislate  for 
ducks." 

"'Twere  wiser,"  preached  York,  "to 
study  your  subj eels'  needs." 

The  King's  eyes  twinkled. "  I  go  among 
them,"  he  said,  "and  learn  their  needs, 
while  you  are  praying,  brother." 

At  this  sally,  Rochester  became  con 
vulsed,  though  he  hid  it  well;  for  Roch 
ester  was  not  as  pious  as  brother  James. 

York,  feeling  that  the  sympathy  was 
against  him,  grew  more  earnest  still.  "I 
wish  your  Majesty  would  have  more 
care,"  he  pleaded.  "'Tis  a  crime  against 
yourself,  a  crime  against  the  state,  a  crime 
against  the  cavaliers  who  fought  and  died 
for  you,  to  walk  these  paths  alone  in  such 
uncertain  times.  Perchance,  'tis  courting 
lurking  murder!" 

"  No  kind  of  danger,  James,"  answered 
the  King,  with  equal  seriousness,  laying 

[   108  ] 


A  Merry  T'ale  of  a  Merry  Time 

a  hand  kindly  on  his  brother's  shoulder; 
"for  I  am  sure  no  man  in  England  would 
take  away  my  life  to  make  you  King." 

There  was  general  laughter  from  the 
assembled  party;  for  all  dared  laugh, 
even  at  the  expense  of  the  Duke  of  York, 
when  the  jest  was  of  the  King's  making. 
Indeed,  not  to  laugh  at  a  king's  jest  has 
been  in  every  age,  in  or  out  of  statutes, 
the  greatest  crime.  Fortunately,  King 
Charles's  wit  warranted  its  observation. 

James  himself  grew  mellow  under  the 
influence  of  the  gaiety,  and  almost  affec 
tionately  replied,  "God  grant  it  be  ever 
so,  brother."  He  then  turned  the  thought. 
"  We  heard  but  now  an  ambassador  from 
Morocco's  court  is  lately  landed.  He 
brings  your  Majesty  two  lions  and  thirty 
ostriches." 

"  Odsfish,  but  he  is  kind,"  replied  the 
King,  reflecting  on  the  gift.  "  I  know  of 
nothing  more  proper  to  send  by  way  of 
return  than  a  flock  of  geese." 

His  brow  arched  quizzically,  as  he 
glanced  over  the  circle  of  inert  courtiers 
ranged  about  him.  "Methinkslcan  count 

[   I09  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


them  out  at  Whitehall,"  he  thought. 

"He  seeks  an  audience  to-night.  Will 
you  grant  it,  Sire?"  besought  James. 

"'Sheart!"  replied  the  King.  "Most 
cheerfully,  I  '11  lead  you  from  Nelly's  ter 
race,  brother.  Hey !  Tune  up  your  throats. 
On  to  the  palace." 


CHAPTER    VII 


Come  down  ! 
Come  up! 


JL  HE  music  died  away  among  the  old 
oaks  in  the  park.  Before  its  final  notes 
were  lost  on  the  air,  however,  hasty  steps 
and  a  chatter  of  women's  voices  came 
from  the  house.  The  door  leading  to  the 
terrace  was  thrown  quickly  open,  and 
Nell  appeared.  Her  eyes  had  the  bewil 
dered  look  of  one  who  has  been  suddenly 
awakened  from  a  sleep  gilded  with  a  de 
lightful  dream. 

She  had,  indeed,  been  dreaming  — 
dreaming  of  the  King  and  of  his  coming. 
As  she  lay  upon  her  couch,  where  she  had 
thrown  herself  after  the  evening  meal, 
she  had  seemed  to  hear  his  serenade. 

Then  the  music  ceased  and  she  started 
up  and  rubbed  her  eyes.  It  was  only  to  see 
the  moonlight  falling  through  the  lat 
ticed  windows  on  to  the  floor  of  her  dainty 


Mistress  Nell 


chamber.  She  was  alone  and  she  bethought 
herself  sadly  that  dreams  go  by  contraries. 

Once  again,  however,  the  hunters'  song 
had  arisen  on  her  startled  ear  —  and  had 
died  away  in  sweet  cadences  in  the  dis 
tance.  It  was  not  a  dream! 

As  she  rushed  out  upon  the  terrace,  she 
called  Moll  reprovingly;  and,  in  an  in 
stant,  Moll  was  at  her  side.  The  faithful 
girl  had  already  seen  the  hunters  and  had 
started  a  search  for  Nell;  but  the  revellers 
had  gone  before  she  could  find  her. 

"What  is  it,  dear  Nell?"  asked  her 
companion,  well  out  of  breath. 

"  Why  did  you  not  call  me,  cruel  girl? " 
answered  Nell,  impatiently.  "To  miss  see 
ing  so  many  handsome  cavaliers!  Where 
is  my  kerchief?" 

Nell  leaned  over  the  balustrade  and 
waved  wildly  to  the  departing  hunters. 
A  pretty  picture  she  was  too,  in  her  white 
flowing  gown,  silvered  by  the  moonlight. 

"  See,  see,"  she  exclaimed  to  Moll,  with 
wild  enthusiasm,  "some  one  waves  back. 
It  may  be  he,  sweet  mouse.  Heigh-ho! 
Why  don't  you  wave,  Moll?" 

[    112    ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Before  Moll  could  answer,  a  rich  bugle- 
horn  rang  out  across  the  park. 
.  " The  hunters'  horn ! "  cried  Nell,  glee 
fully.  "  Oh,  I  wish  I  were  a  man  —  except 
when  one  is  with  me";  and  she  threw 
both  arms  about  Moll,  for  the  want  of  one 
better  to  embrace.  She  was  in  her  varying 
mood,  which  was  one  'twixt  the  laughter 
of  the  lip  and  the  tear  in  the  eye. 

"I  have  lost  my  brother!"  ejaculated 
some  one;  but  she  heard  him  not. 

This  laconic  speech  came  from  none 
other  than  the  King,  who  in  a  bantering 
mood  had  returned. 

"  I  went  one  side  a  tree  and  pious  James 
t'other;  and  here  I  am  by  Nelly's  ter 
race  once  again,"  he  muttered.  "Oh,  ho! 
wench!"  His  eyes  had  caught  sight  of 
Nell  upon  the  terrace. 

He  stepped  back  quickly  into  the 
shadow  and  watched  her  playfully. 

Nell  looked  longingly  out  into  the 
night,  and  sighed  heavily.  She  was  at  her 
wit's  end.  The  evening  was  waning,  and 
the  King,  as  she  thought,  had  not  come. 

"  Why  do  you  sigh? "  asked  Moll,  con 
solingly.  [  113  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"  I  was  only  looking  down  the  path, 
dear  heart,"  replied  Nell,  sadly. 

"  He  will  come,"  hopefully  suggested 
Moll,  whose  little  heart  sympathized 
deeply  with  her  benefactress. 

"  Nay,  sweet,"  said  Nell,  and  she  shook 
her  curls  while  the  moonbeams  danced 
among  them,  "he  is  as  false  as  yonder 
moon  —  as  changeable  of  face." 

She  withdrew  her  eyes  from  the  path 
and  they  fell  upon  the  King.  His  Majesty's 
curiosity  had  quite  over-mastered  him, 
and  he  had  inadvertently  stepped  well  into 
the  light.  The  novelty  of  hearing  himself 
derided  by  such  pretty  lips  was  a  delicious 
experience,  indeed. 

"The  King!"  she  cried,  in  joyous  sur 
prise. 

Moll's  diplomatic  effort  to  escape  at  the 
sight  of  his  Majesty  was  not  half  quick 
enough  for  Nell,  who  forthwith  forced 
her  companion  into  the  house,  and  closed 
the  door  sharply  behind  her,  much  to  the 
delight  of  the  humour-loving  King. 

Nell  then  turned  to  the  balustrade  and, 
somewhat  confused,  looked  down  at  his 

[  »4  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Majesty,  who  now  stood  below,  calmly 
gazing  up  at  her,  an  amused  expression 
on  his  face. 

"Pardon,  your  Majesty," she  explained, 
falteringly,  "  I  did  not  see  you." 

"You  overlooked  me  merely,"  slyly 
suggested  Charles,  swinging  his  stick  in 
the  direction  of  the  departed  hunters. 

"F  faith,  I  thought  it  was  you  waved 
answer,  Sire,"  quickly  replied  Nell,  whose 
confusion  was  gone  and  who  was  now  mis 
tress  of  the  situation  and  of  herself. 

"No,  Nell;  I  hunt  alone  for  my  hart." 

"You  hunt  the  right  park,  Sire." 

"  Yea,  a  good  preserve,  truly,"  observed 
the  King. "  I  find  my  game,  as  I  expedted, 
flirting,  waving  kerchiefs,  making  eyes 
and  throwing  kisses  to  the  latest  passer- 
by." 

"I  was  encouraging  the  soldiers,  my 
liege.  That  is  every  woman's  duty  to  her 
country." 

"  And  her  country;//?;?,"  said  he,  smil 
ing.  "You  are  very  loyal,  Nell.  Come 
down!"  It  was  irritating,  indeed,  to  be 
kept  so  at  arm's  length. 

[  "5  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


She  gazed  down  at  him  with  impish 
sweetness  —  down  at  the  King  of  Eng 
land! 

"  Come  up! "  she  said,  leaning  over  the 
balustrade. 

"Nay;  come  down  if  yo'u  love  me," 
pleaded  the  King. 

"Nay;  come  up  if  you  love  me,"  said 
Nell,  enticingly. 

"Egad!  I  am  too  old  to  climb,"  ex 
claimed  the  Merry  Monarch. 

"Egad!  I  am  too  young  yet  for  the 
downward  path,  your  Majesty,"  retorted 
Nell. 

The  King  shrugged  his  shoulders  in 
differently. 

"  You  will  fall  if  we  give  you  time," 
he  said. 

"  To  the  King's  level? "  she  asked,  slyly, 
then  answered  herself:  "  Mayhap." 

Thus  they  stood  like  knights  after  the 
first  tilt.  Charles  looked  up  at  Nell,  and 
Nell  looked  down  at  Charles.  There  was 
a  moment's  silence.  Nell  broke  it. 

"  I  am  surprised  you  happen  this  way, 
Sire." 

[  "6  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"With  such  eyes  to  lure  me?"  asked 
the  King,  and  he  asked  earnestly  too. 

"Tush,"  answered  Nell,  coyly,  "your 
tongue  will  lead  you  to  perdition,  Sire." 

"  No  fear! "  replied  he,  dryly.  "  I  knelt 
in  church  with  brother  James  but  yes 
terday." 

"In  sooth,  quite  true!"  said  Nell,  ap 
provingly,  as  she  leaned  back  against  the 
door  and  raised  her  eyes  innocently  to 
ward  the  moon.  "I  sat  in  the  next  pew, 
Sire,  afraid  to  move  for  fear  I  might  awake 
your  Majesty." 

The  King  chuckled  softly  to  himself. 
Nell  picked  one  of  the  flowers  that  grew 
upon  the  balustrade. 

"  Ah,  you  come  a  long-forgotten  path 
to-night,"  she  said  abruptly. 

The  King  was  alert  in  an  instant.  He 
felt  that  he  had  placed  himself  in  a  false 
light.  He  loved  the  witch  above  despite 
himself. 

"  I  saw  thee  twa  evenings  ago,  lass," 
he  hastily  asserted,  in  good  Scotch  ac 
cents,  somewhat  impatiently. 

"And  is  not  that  a  long  time,  Sire," 

[  "7  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


questioned  Nell,  "or  did  Portsmouth 
make  it  fly?" 

"Portsmouth!"  exclaimed  Charles. 
He  turned  his  face  away.  "  Can  it  be  my 
conscience  pricks  me? "  he  thought. "  You 
know  more  of  her  than  I,  sweet  Nell," 
he  then  asserted,  with  open  manner. 

"  Marry,  I  know  her  not  at  all  and  never 
saw  her,"  said  Nell.  "I  shall  feel  better 
when  I  do,"  she  thought. 

"  It  were  well  for  England's  peace  you 
have  not  met,"  laughed  Charles. 

"  Faith  and  troth,"  said  Nell,  "  I  am 
happy  to  know  our  King  has  lost  his 
heart." 

"Odso!  And  why?"  asked  Charles; 
and  he  gazed  at  Nell  in  his  curious  uncer 
tain  way,  as  he  thought  it  was  never  pos 
sible  to  tell  quite  what  she  meant  or  what 
she  next  would  think  or  say  or  do. 

"We  feared  he  had  not  one  to  lose," 
she  slyly  suggested.  "  It  gives  us  hope." 

"To  have  it  in  another's  hand  as  you 
allege?"  asked  Charles. 

"Marry,  truly!"  answered  Nell,  de 
cisively.  "The  Duchess  may  find  it  more 
[  "8  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

than  she  can  hold  and  toss  it  over." 

"How  now,  wench!"  exclaimed  the 
King,  with  assumption  of  wounded  dig 
nity.  "  My  heart  a  ball  for  women  to  bat 
about!" 

"  Sire,  two  women  often  play  at  rackets 
even  with  a  king's  heart,"  softly  sug 
gested  Nell. 

"Odsfish,"  cried  the  King,  with  hands 
and  eyes  raised  in  mock  supplication. 
"  Heaven  help  me  then." 

Again  the  hunters'  horn  rang  clearly 
on  the  night. 

"  The  horn !  The  horn ! "  said  Nell,  with 
forced  indifference. "  They  call  you,  Sire." 

There  was  a  triumphantly  bewitching 
look  in  her  eyes,  however,  as  she  realized 
the  discomfiture  of  the  King.  He  was 
annoyed,  indeed.  His  manner  plainly 
betokened  his  desire  to  stay  and  his  irri 
tation  at  the  interruption. 

"'Tis  so!"  he  said  at  last,  resignedly. 
"The  King  is  lost." 

The  horn  sounded  clearer.  The  hunt 
ers  were  returning. 

"  Again  —  nearer ! "  exclaimed  Charles, 

[   "9] 


Mistress  Nell 


fretfully.  His  mind  reverted  to  his  pious 
brother;  and  he  laughed  as  he  continued: 
"  Poor  brother  James  and  his  ostriches!  " 

He  could  almost  touch  Nell's  finger 
tips. 

"Farewell,  sweet,"  he  said;  "I  must 
help  them  find  his  Majesty  or  they  will 
swarm  here  like  bees.  Yet  I  must  see  my 
Nell  again  to-night.  You  have  bewitched 
me,  wench.  Sup  with  me  within  the  hour 
—  at  —  Ye  Blue  Boar  Inn.  Can  you  find 
the  place?" 

There  was  mischief  in  Nell's  voice 
as  she  leaned  upon  the  balustrade.  She 
dropped  a  flower;  he  caught  it. 

"  Sire,  I  can  always  find  a  rendezvous," 
she  answered. 

"You're  the  biggest  rogue  in  Eng 
land,"  laughed  Charles. 

"  Of  a  subjett^  perhaps,  Sire,"  replied 
Nell,  pointedly. 

"That  is  treason,  sly  wench,"  rejoined 
the  King;  but  his  voice  grew  tender  as  he 
added: "  but  treason  of  the  tongue  and  not 
the  heart.  Adieu!  Let  that  seal  thy  lips, 
until  we  meet." 

[   120  ] 


A  Merry  *Tale  of  a  Merry  'Time 

He  threw  a  kiss  to  the  waiting  lips 
upon  the  balcony. 

"  Alack-a-day,"  sighed  Nell,  sadly,  as 
she  caught  the  kiss. "  Some  one  may  break 
the  seal,  my  liege;  who  knows? " 

"  How  now? "  questioned  Charles,  jeal 
ously. 

Nell  hugged  herself  as  she  saw  his  fit 
ful  mood;  for  beneath  mock  jealousy  she 
thought  she  saw  the  germ  of  true  jealousy. 
She  laughed  wistfully  as  she  explained: 
"  It  were  better  to  come  up  and  seal  them 
tighter,  Sire." 

"Minx!"  he  chuckled,  and  tossed  an 
other  kiss. 

The  horn  again  echoed  through  the 
woods.  He  started. 

"Now  we  '11  despatch  the  affairs  of  Eng 
land,  brother;  then  we'll  sup  with  pretty 
Nelly.  Poor  brother  James!  Heaven  bless 
him  and  his  ostriches." 

He  turned  and  strode  quickly  through 
the  trees  and  down  the  path;  but,  as  he 
went,  ever  and  anon  he  called:  "Ye  Blue 
Boar  Inn,  within  the  hour!" 

Each  time  from  the  balcony  in  Nell's 


Mistress  Nell 


sweet  voice  came  back  —  "Ye  Blue  Boar 
Inn,  within  the  hour!  I  will  not  fail  you, 
Sire!" 

Then  she  too  disappeared.  There  was 
again  a  slamming  of  doors  and  much  con 
fusion  within  the  house.  There  were  calls 
and  sounds  of  running  feet. 

The  door  below  the  terrace  opened  sud 
denly,  and  Nell  appeared  breathless  upon 
the  lawn  —  at  her  heels  the  constant  Moll. 
Nell  ran  some  steps  down  the  path,  peer 
ing  vainly  through  the  woods  after  the 
departing  King.  Her  bosom  rose  and  fell 
in  agitation. 

"Oh,  Moll,  Moll,  Moll!"  she  ex 
claimed,  fearfully.  "He  has  been  at 
Portsmouth's  since  high  noon.  I  could  see 
it  in  his  eyes."  Her  own  eyes  snapped  as  she 
thought  of  the  hated  French  rival,  whom 
she  had  not  yet  seen,  but  whose  relation 
to  the  royal  household,  as  she  thought, 
gave  her  the  King's  ear  almost  at  will. 

She  walked  nervously  back  and  forth, 
then  turned  quickly  upon  her  companion, 
asking  her,  who  knew  nothing,  a  hun 
dred  questions,  all  in  one  little  breath. 
[  122  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"What  is  she?  How  looks  she?  What  is 
her  charm,  her  fascination,  the  magic  of 
her  art?  Is  she  short,  tall,  fat,  lean,  joyous 
or  sombre?  I  must  know." 

"Oh,  Nell,  what  will  you  do?"  cried 
Moll  in  fearful  accents  as  she  watched 
her  beautiful  mistress  standing  passion- 
swayed  before  her  like  a  queen  in  the 
moonlight,  the  little  toe  of  her  slipper 
nervously  beating  the  sward  as  she  gen 
eral-like  marshalled  her  wits  for  the  battle. 

"See  her,  see  her,  —  from  top  to  toe!" 
Nell  at  length  exclaimed.  "  Oh,  there 
will  be  sport,  sweet  mouse.  France  again 
against  England  —  the  stake,  a  King!" 

She  glanced  in  the  direction  of  the 
house  and  cried  joyously  as  she  saw 
Strings  hobbling  toward  her. 

"  Heaven  ever  gave  me  a  man  in  wait 
ing,"  she  said,  gleefully.  "Poor  fellow,  he 
limps  from  youthful,  war-met  wounds. 
Comrade,  are  you  still  strong  enough  for 
service?" 

"  To  the  death  for  you,  Mistress  Nell ! " 
he  faithfully  replied. 

"You   know   the  Duchess   of  Ports- 

[   I23  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


mouth,  and  where  she  lives?"  artfully 
inquired  Nell. 

"Portsmouth!"  he  repeated,  excit 
edly.  "She  was  here  but  now,  peeping 
at  your  windows." 

Nell  stood  aghast.  Her  face  grew  pale, 
and  her  lips  trembled. 

"  Here,  here! "  she  exclaimed,  incredu 
lously.  "The  imported  hussy!" 

She  turned  hotly  upon  Strings,  as  she 
had  upon  poor  Moll,  with  an  array  of 
questions  which  almost  paralyzed  the  old 
fiddler's  wits.  "How  looks  she?  What 
colour  eyes?  Does  her  lip  arch ?  How  many 
inches  span  her  waist?" 

Strings  looked  cautiously  about,  then 
whispered  in  Nell's  ear.  He  might  as  well 
have  talked  to  all  London ;  for  Nell,  in  her 
excitement,  repeated  his  words  at  the  top 
of  her  voice. 

"You  overheard?  Great  Heavens! 
Drug  the  King  and  win  the  rights  of  Eng 
land  while  he  is  in  his  cups?  Bouillon  — 
the  army  —  Louis — the  Dutch!  A  con 
spiracy!" 

"  Oh,  dear ;  oh,  dear,"  came  from  Moll's 

[    124  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

trembling  lips. 

Nell's  wits  were  like  lightning  play 
ing  with  the  clouds.  Her  plans  were 
formed  at  once. 

"  Fly,  fly,  comrade,"  she  commanded 
Strings.  "  Overtake  her  chair.  Tell  the 
Duchess  that  her  beloved  Charles — she 
will  understand  —  entreats  her  to  sup  at 
Ye  Blue  Boar  Inn,  within  the  hour.  Nay, 
she  will  be  glad  enough  to  come.  Say  he 
awaits  her  alone.  Run,  run,  good  Strings, 
and  you  shall  have  a  hospital  to  nurse 
these  wounds,  as  big  as  Noah's  ark;  and 
the  King  shall  build  it  for  the  message." 

Strings  hastened  down  the  path,  fired 
by  Nell's  inspiration,  with  almost  the 
eagerness  of  a  boy. 

"Run,  run!"  cried  Nell,  in  ecstasy,  as 
she  looked  after  him  and  dwelt  gleefully 
upon  the  outcome  of  her  plans. 

He  disappeared  through  the  trees. 

"Heigh-ho!"  she  said,  with  a  light- 
hearted  step.  "Now,  Moll,  we'll  get  our 
first  sight  of  the  enemy." 

She  darted  into  the  house,  dragging  poor 
Moll  after  her. 

[  125  ] 


CHAPTER    VIII 


"  And  the  man  that  is  drunk  is  as  great  as  a  king." 

./\N  old  English  inn!  What  spot  on 
earth  is  more  hospitable,  even  though  its 
floor  be  bare  and  its  tables  wooden? There 
is  a  homely  atmosphere  about  it,  with  its 
cobwebbed  rafters,  its  dingy  windows, 
its  big  fireplace,  where  the  rough  logs 
crackle,  and  its  musty  ale.  It  has  ever  been 
a  home  for  the  belated  traveller,  where  the 
viands,  steaming  hot,  have  filled  his  soul 
with  joy.  Oh,  the  Southdown  mutton  and 
the  roasts  of  beef ! 

If  England  has  given  us  naught  else, 
she  should  be  beloved  for  her  wealth  of 
inns,  with  their  jolly  landlords  and  their 
pert  bar-maids  and  their  lawns  for  the 
game  of  bowls.  May  our  children's  chil 
dren  find  them  still  unchanged. 

In  a  quaint  corner  of  London,  there 
stood  such  an  inn,  in  the  days  of  which 
we  speak;  and  it  lives  in  our  story.  When 

[  126  ] 


A  Merry  Ta/e  of  a  Merry  'Time 

it  was  built,  no  one  knew  and  none  cared. 
Tradition  said  that  it  had  been  a  rendez 
vous  for  convivial  spirits  for  ages  that  had 
gone.  A  sign  hung  from  the  door,  on 
which  was  a  boar's  head;  and  under  it,  in 
Old  English  lettering,  might  have  been 
deciphered,  if  the  reader  had  the  wit  to 
read,  "Ye  Blue  Boar  Inn." 

It  was  the  evening  of  a  certain  day, 
known  to  us  all,  in  the  reign  of  good 
King  Charles.  Three  yesty  spirits  sat 
convivially  enjoying  the  warmth  of  the 
fire  upon  the  huge  hearth.  A  keg  was 
braced  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  One 
of  the  merry  crew  —  none  other,  indeed, 
than  Swallow,  a  constable  to  the  King  — 
sat  astride  the  cask,  Don  Quixote-like. 
In  place  of  the  dauntless  lance,  he  was 
armed  with  a  sturdy  mug  of  good  old  ale. 
He  sang  gaily  to  a  tune  of  his  own,  turn 
ing  ever  and  anon  for  approbation  to  Buz 
zard,  another  spirit  of  like  guild,  who  sat 
in  a  semi-maudlin  condition  by  the  table, 
and  also  to  the  moon-faced  landlord  of 
the  inn,  who  encouraged  the  joviality 
of  his  guests  —  not  forgetting  to  count 

[   I27  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


the  cups  which  they  demolished. 
Swallow  sang: 

"Here's  a  health  unto  his  Majesty ,  with  a  fa, 

la,  fa, 

Conversion  to  his  enemies  with  a  fa,  la,  fa, 
And  he  that  will  not  pledge  his  health, 
I  wish  him  neither  wit  nor  wealth, 
Nor  yet  a  rope  to  hang  himself— 
With  a  fa,  la,  fa, 
With  a  fa,  la,  fa.yy 

The  song  ended  in  a  triumphant  wave 
of  glory.  The  singer  turned  toward  the 
fellow,  Buzzard,  and  demanded  indig 
nantly: 

"  Why  don't  ye  sing,  knave,  to  the  tune 
of  the  spigot?" 

"My  gullet's  dry,  Master  Constable," 
stupidly  explained  his  companion,  as  he 
too  buried  his  face  in  the  ale. 

"Odsbud,  thou  knowest  not  the  art, 
thou  clod,"  retorted  the  constable,  wisely. 

"Nay;  I  can  sing  as  well  as  any  man," 
answered  Buzzard,  indignantly,  "an  I 
know  when  to  go  up  and  when  to  come 
down."  He  pointed  stupidly,  contrary  to 
the  phrase,  first  to  the  floor  and  then  to  the 
ceiling.  [  128  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

The  landlord  chuckled  merrily,  imi 
tating  him.  "  When  to  go  up  and  when  to 
come  down!"  he  repeated  with  the  same 
idiotic  drawl  and  contradictory  gesture. 

"  Go  to,  simple,"  replied  Swallow,  with 
tremendous  condescension  of  manner. 
"Thy  mother  gave  thee  a  gullet  but  no 
ear.  Pass  the  schnapps." 

He  arose  and  staggered  to  the  table. 

"Good  Master  Constable,  how  sing- 
est  thou?"  sheepishly  inquired  Buzzard, 
as  he  filled  Swallow's  tankard  for  the 
twentieth  time. 

"Marry,  by  main  force,  thou  jack- 
pudding;  how  else? "  demanded  Swallow, 
pompously.  He  reseated  himself  with 
much  effort  astride  the  cask.  "  Oh,  bury 
me  here,"  he  continued,  looking  into  the 
foaming  mug,  and  then  buried  his  face 
deep  in  the  ale. 

His  companions  were  well  pleased  with 
the  toast;  for  each  repeated  it  after  him, 
each  in  his  turn  emphasizing  the  "me" 
and  the  "here"  —  "Oh,  bury  me  here!" 
"Oh, bury  me  here!"  —  Buzzard  in  a  voice 
many  tones  deeper  than  that  of  Swallow 

[   I29  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


and  the  landlord  in  a  voice  many  tones 
deeper  than  that  of  Buzzard.  Indeed,  the 
guttural  tones  of  the  landlord  bespoke  the 
grave-yard. 

The  three  faces  were  lost  in  the  foam; 
the  three  sets  of  lips  smacked  in  unison; 
and  the  world  might  have  wagged  as  it 
would  for  these  three  jolly  topers  but  for 
a  woman's  voice,  calling  sharply  from  the 
kitchen: 

"Jenkins,  love!" 

"Body  o'  me!"  exclaimed  the  land 
lord,  almost  dropping  his  empty  tankard. 
"  Coming,  coming,  my  dear ! "  and  he  de 
parted  hastily. 

The  constable  poked  Buzzard  in  the 
ribs;  Buzzard  poked  the  constable  in  the 
ribs. 

"Jenkins,  love ! "  they  exclaimed  in  one 
breath  as  the  landlord  returned,  much  to 
his  discomfiture;  and  their  eyes  twinkled 
and  wrinkled  as  they  poked  fun  at  the 
taverner. 

"Body  o'  me!  Thou  sly  dog!"  said 
the  constable,  as  he  continued  to  twit 
him.  "  Whence  came  the  saucy  wench  in 


A  Merry  T'a/e  of  a  Merry  'Time 

the  kitchen,  landlord?  A  dimpled  cook, 
eh?" 

The  landlord's  face  grew  serious  with 
offended  dignity  as  he  attempted  to  ex 
plain. 

"'Tis  my  wife,  Master  Constable,"  he 
said. 

"  Marry,  the  new  one? "  inquired  Swal 
low. 

"'Tis  not  the  old  one,  Master  Swal 
low,"  replied  the  old  hypocrite,  wiping 
away  a  forced  tear.  "Poor  soul,  she's 
gone,  I  know  not  where." 

"F  faith,  I  trow  she's  still  cooking, 
landlord,"  consolingly  replied  the  con 
stable,  with  tearful  mien,  pointing  slyly 
downward  for  the  benefit  of  Buzzard  and 
steadying  himself  with  difficulty  on  the 
cask. 

"  Bless  Matilde,"  said  the  landlord  as 
he  wiped  his  eyes  again,  "  I  had  a  hard 
time  to  fill  her  place." 

"Yea,  truly,"  chuckled  Swallow  in 
Buzzard's  ear,  between  draughts,  "three 
long  months  from  grave  to  altar." 

"  A  good  soul,  a  good  soul,  Master 


Mistress  Nell 


Swallow,"  continued  the  landlord,  with 
the  appearance  of  deep  affliction. 

"And  a  better  cook,  landlord,"  said 
Swallow,  sadly.  "  Odsbud,  she  knew  a 
gooseberry  tart.  Patch  your  old  wife's 
soul  to  your  new  wife's  face,  and  you'll 
be  a  happy  man,  landlord.  Here's  a  drop 
to  her." 

"  Thank  ye,  Master  Constable,"  replied 
the  landlord,  much  affected.  He  looked 
well  to  the  filling  of  the  flagon  in  his 
hand,  again  wiped  a  tear  from  his  eye 
and  took  a  deep  draught  to  the  pledge  of 

"The  old  one!" 

Swallow,  with  equal  reverence,  and 
with  some  diplomacy,  placed  his  flagon 
to  his  lips  with  the  pledge  of 

"The  new  one!" 

Buzzard,  who  had  not  been  heard  from 
for  some  time,  roused  sufficiently  to  real 
ize  the  situation,  and  broke  out  noisily  on 
his  part  with 

"The  next  one!" 

A  startled  expression  pervaded  the 
landlord's  face  as  he  realized  the  mean 
ing  of  Buzzard's  words.  He  glanced  woe- 

[    132   ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

fully  toward  the  kitchen-door,  lest  the 
new  wife  might  have  overheard. 

"Peace,  Buzzard!"  Swallow  hastened 
to  command,  reprovingly.  "Would  ye 
raise  a  man's  dead  wife?  Learn  discretion 
from  thy  elders,  an  thou  hop'st  to  be  a 
married  man." 

"  Marry,  I  do  not  hope,"  declared  Buz 
zard,  striking  the  table  with  his  clenched 
hand.  He  had  no  time  for  matrimony 
while  the  cups  were  overflowing. 

There  was  a  quick,  imperative  knock 
at  the  door.  The  constable,  Buzzard  and 
the  landlord,  all  started  up  in  confusion 
and  fear. 

"Thieves,"  stammered  Swallow,  faint 
ly,  from  behind  the  cask,  from  which  he 
had  dismounted  at  the  first  sign  of  dan 
ger.  "They  are  making  off  with  thy  tit- 
bit-of-a-wife,  landlord." 

"Be  there  thieves  in  the  neighbour 
hood,  Master  Constable?"  whispered  the 
landlord,  in  consternation. 

"Why  should  his  Majesty's  constable 
be  here  else?  "  said  Swallow,  reaching  for 
a  pike,  which  trembled  in  his  hand  as  if 


Mistress  Nell 


he  had  the  ague.  "The  country  about 's 
o'er-run  with  them;  and  I  warrant  'tis 
thy  new  wife's  blue  eyes  they  are  after." 
He  steadied  himself  with  the  pike  and 
took  a  deep  draught  of  ale  to  steady  his 
courage  as  well. 

Buzzard  started  to  crawl  beneath  the 
table,  but  the  wary  constable  caught  him 
by  his  belt  and  made  a  shield  for  the  nonce 
of  his  trembling  body. 

The  landlord's  eyes  bulged  from  their 
sockets  as  if  a  spirit  from  the  nether  re 
gions  had  confronted  him.  The  corners 
of  his  mouth,  which  ascended  in  har 
mony  with  his  moon-face,  twitched  ner 
vously.  "Mercy  me,  sayest  thou  so?"  he 
asked. 

"And  in  thine  ear,"  continued  Swal 
low,  consolingly,  "and  if  thou  see'st  Old 
Rowley  within  a  ten  league,  put  thy  new 
huswife's  face  under  lock  and  key  and 
Constable  Swallow  on  the  door  to  guard 
thy  treasure." 

It  was  not  quite  clear,  however,  what 
the  constable  meant;  for  "Old  Rowley" 
was  the  name  of  the  King's  favourite  race- 

[  '34  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

horse,  of  Newmarket  fame,  and  had  also 
come  to  be  the  nickname  of  the  King  him 
self.  Charles  assumed  it  good-naturedly. 
Assuredly,  neither  might  be  expecled  as 
a  visitor  to  Ye  Blue  Boar. 

There  came  a  more  spirited  knock  at 
the  door.  The  constable  sought  a  niche 
in  the  fireplace,  whence  he  endeavoured 
to  exclude  Buzzard,  who  was  loath  to  be 
excluded. 

"Pass  the  Dutch-courage,  good  land 
lord,"  entreated  Swallow,  in  a  hoarse  whis 
per. 

The  landlord  started  boldly  toward  the 
door,  but  his  courage  failed  him.  "Go 
thou,  Master  Constable,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Go  thou  thyself,"  wisely  commanded 
Swallow,  with  the  appearance  of  much 
bravery,  though  one  eye  twitched  ner 
vously  in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen- 
door  in  the  rear,  as  a  possible  means  of 
exit.  "There's  no  need  of  his  Majesty's 
constable  till  the  battery  be  complete. 
There  must  be  an  action  and  intent,  saith 
the  law." 

"Old  Rowley ! "  muttered  the  landlord, 

[  135  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


fearfully.  "Good  Master  Constable—" 
he  pleaded.  His  face,  which  was  usually 
like  a  roast  of  beef,  grew  livid  with  fear. 

Swallow,  however,  gave  him  no  en 
couragement,  and  the  landlord  once  more 
started  for  the  door. 

On  the  way  his  eye  lighted  on  a  full 
cask  which  was  propped  up  in  the  cor 
ner.  Instincl:  was  strong  in  him,  even  in 
death.  It  had  been  tapped,  and  it  would 
be  unsafe  to  leave  it  even  for  an  instant 
within  reach  of  such  guests.  He  stopped 
and  quickly  replaced  the  spigot  with  a 
plug. 

There  was  a  third  knock  at  the  door 
— louder  than  before. 

"  Anon,  anon ! "  he  called,  hastily  turn 
ing  and  catching  up  the  half-filled  flagon 
from  the  table.  He  disappeared  in  the 
entry-way. 

The  brave  representatives  of  the  King's 
law  craned  their  necks,  but  they  could 
hear  nothing.  As  the  silence  continued, 
courage  was  gradually  restored  to  them; 
and,  with  the  return  of  courage,  came  the 
desire  for  further  drink. 

[  -36  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Swallow  again  seized  his  pike  and  stag 
gered  toward  the  entry-way  to  impress  his 
companion  with  his  bravery. 

Buzzard  caught  the  spirit  of  the  a6tion. 
"Marry,  I'd  be  a  constable,  too,  an  it 
were  to  sit  by  the  fire  and  guard  a  pretty 
wench,"  he  said.  His  face  glowed  in  an 
ticipation  of  such  happiness  as  he  glanced 
through  the  half-open  door  to  the  kitchen, 
where  the  landlord's  wife  reigned. 

"Egad,  thou  a  constable!"  ejaculated 
Swallow,  contemptuously,  throwing  a 
withering  glance  in  the  direction  of  his 
comrade.  "Thou  ignoramamus!  Old 
Rowley  wants  naught  but  brave  men 
and  sober  men  like  me  to  guard  the  law. 
Thou  art  a  drunken  Roundhead.  One  of 
Old  Noll's  vile  ruffians.  I  can  tell  it  by 
the  wart  on  thy  nose,  knave." 

"  Nay,  Master  Constable,"  explained 
Buzzard,  with  an  injured  look  at  the 
mention  of  the  wart,  "  it  will  soon  away. 
Mother  says,  when  I  was  a  rosy  babe, 
Master  Wart  was  all  in  all;  now  I'm  a 
man,  Master  Nose  is  crowding  Neigh 
bour  Wart." 

[   '37  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


Swallow  put  his  hands  on  his  knees  and 
laughed  deeply.  He  contemplated  thenose 
and  person  of  his  companion  with  acurious 
air  and  grew  mellow  with  patronage. 

"  Thy  fool's  pate  is  not  so  dull,"  he  said, 
half  aloud,  as  he  lighted  a  long  pipe  and 
puffed  violently.  "Thy  wit  would  crack 
a  quarter-staff.  'Sbud,  would'st  be  my 

9  " 

posse  ? 

This  was,  indeed,  a  concession  on  the 
part  of  the  constable,  who  was  over 
weighted  with  the  dignity  of  the  law 
which  he  upheld. 

"Would'st  be  at  my  command,"  he 
continued,  "  to  execute  the  King's  Statu 
quos  on  rogues?" 

"Marry,  Constable  Buzzard!"  ex 
claimed  the  toper,  gleefully.  "Nay,  and 
I  would!" 

"Marry,  'Constable'  Buzzard!"  re 
plied  Swallow,  with  tremendous  indig 
nation  at  the  assumption  of  the  fellow. 
"  Nay,  and  thou  would'st  not,  ass!  By  my 
patron  saint — " 

As  the  constable  spoke,  Buzzard's  eye, 
with  a  leer,  lighted  on  the  cask  in  the 

[  '38  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

corner.  He  bethought  him  that  it  had  a 
vent-hole  even  though  the  landlord  had 
removed  the  spigot.  He  tiptoed  unsteadily 
across  the  room,  and  proceeded  with  much 
difficulty  to  insert  a  straw  in  the  small 
opening.  He  had  thus  already  added  ma 
terially  to  his  maudlin  condition,  before 
Swallow  discovered,  with  consternation 
and  anger,  the  temporary  advantage 
which  the  newly  appointed  posse  had  se 
cured. 

The  cunning  constable  held  carefully 
on  to  his  tongue,  however.  He  quietly 
produced  a  knife  and  staggered  in  his  turn 
to  the  cask,  unobserved  by  the  unsuspect 
ing  Buzzard,  whose  eyes  were  tightly 
closed  in  the  realization  of  a  dream  of  his 
highest  earthly  bliss. 

In  an  instant,  the  straw  was  clipped 
mid-way  and  the  constable  was  enjoying 
the  contents  of  the  cask  through  the  lower 
half,  while  Buzzard  slowly  awakened  to 
the  facl  that  his  dream  of  bliss  had  van 
ished  and  that  he  was  sucking  a  bit  of 
straw  which  yielded  naught. 

"  Here,    knave,"    commanded    Swal- 

[    139   1 


Mistress  Nell 


low,  between  breaths,  pushing  the  other 
roughly  aside,  "  thou  hast  had  enough  for 
a  posse.  Fill  my  mug,  thou  ignoranshibus." 

Buzzard  staggered  toward  the  table 
to  perform  the  bidding.  "The  flagon's 
empty,  Master  Constable,"  he  replied, 
and  forthwith  loudly  called  out,  "  Land 
lord!  Landlord!" 

The  constable  dropped  his  straw  and 
raised  himself  with  difficulty  to  his  full 
height,  one  hand  firmly  resting  on  the 
cask. 

" Silence,  fool  of  a  posse"  he  com 
manded,  when  he  had  poised  himself; 
"look  ye,  I  have  other  eggs  on  the  spit. 
To  thy  knee,  sirrah;  to  thy  knee,  knave! " 

Buzzard  with  difficulty  and  with  many 
groans  unsuspectingly  obeyed  the  com 
mand.  Swallow  lifted  the  cask  which 
not  long  since  he  had  been  riding  and 
which  had  not  as  yet  been  tapped  upon 
the  shoulder  of  his  kneeling  companion. 
There  was  another  groan. 

"'Tis  too  heavy,  good  Master  Con 
stable,"  cried  Buzzard,  in  sore  distress. 

"Thou  clodhopper]"  yelled  Swallow, 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

unsympathetically.  "An  thou  cannot 
master  a  cask  of  wine,  thou  wilt  never 
master  the  King's  law.  To  the  kitchen 
with  thee;  and  keep  thy  eyes  shut,  thou 
knave  of  a  posse."  The  constable  made  a 
dive  for  his  pike  and  lantern,  and  enforced 
his  authority  by  punctuating  his  remarks 
with  jabs  of  the  pike  from  behind  at  his 
powerless  friend,  who  could  scarce  keep 
his  legs  under  the  weight  of  the  cask. 

As  Buzzard  tottered  through  the 
kitchen-door  and  made  his  exit,  the 
constable,  finding  his  orders  faithfully 
obeyed,  steadied  himself  with  the  pike 
to  secure  a  good  start;  and  then,  with 
long  staggering  strides,  he  himself  made 
his  way  after  the  posse,  singing  loudly  to 
his  heart's  content: 

"  Good  store  of  good  claret  supplies  everything 
And  the  man  that  is  drunk  is  as  great  as  a  king" 


CHAPTER     IX 


Three  chickens! 


]L  HE  door  opened  quickly,  and  in 
came  King  Charles;  but  who  would 
have  known  him?  The  royal  monarch 
had  assumed  the  mien  and  garb  of  a 
ragged  cavalier. 

His  eyes  swept  the  inn  quickly  and 
approvingly.  He  turned  upon  the  land 
lord,  who  followed  him  with  dubious 
glances. 

"Cook  the  chickens  to  a  turn;  and, 
mark  you,  have  the  turbot  and  sauce 
hot,  and  plenty  of  wine,"  he  said.  "Look 
to't;  the  vintage  I  named,  Master  Land 
lord.  I  know  the  bouquet  and  sparkle 
and  the  ripple  o'er  the  palate." 

"  Who  is  to  pay  for  all  this,  sir?  "  asked 
the  landlord,  aghast  at  the  order. 

"Insolent!"  replied  Charles.  "I  com 
mand  it,  sirrah." 

"Pardon,  sir,"  humbly  suggested  the 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  'Time 

landlord;  "guineas,  and  not  words,  com 
mand  here." 

"Odso!"  muttered  the  King,  remem 
bering  his  disguise.  "  My  temper  will  re 
veal  me.  Never  fear,  landlord,"  he  boasted 
loudly.  "You  shall  be  paid,  amply  paid. 
I  will  pledge  myself  you  shall  be  paid." 

"  Pardon,  sir,"  falteringly  repeated  the 
landlord,  rubbing  his  hands  together 
graciously;  "but  the  order  is  a  costly  one 
and  you  — 

"Do  not  look  flourishing?"  said 
Charles,  as  he  laughingly  finished  the 
sentence,  glancing  somewhat  dubiously 
himself  at  his  own  dress.  "Never  judge 
a  man  by  his  rags.  Plague  on't,  though; 
I  would  not  become  my  own  creditor 
upon  inspection.  Take  courage,  good 
Master  Landlord;  England's  debt  is  in 
my  pocket." 

"  How  many  to  supper,  sir? "  asked  the 
landlord,  fearful  lest  he  might  offend. 

"Two!  Two!  Only  two!"  decisively 
exclaimed  Charles.  "  A  man  is  an  extrav 
agant  fool  who  dines  more.  The  third  is 
expensive  and  in  the  way.  Eh,  landlord? " 

[  H3  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


The  King  winked  gaily  at  the  land 
lord,  who  grinned  in  response  and  dropped 
his  eyes  more  respectfully. 

"Two,  sir,"  acquiesced  the  landlord. 

"Aye,  mine  host,  thou  art  favoured  be 
yond  thy  kind,"  laughed  Charles,  know 
ingly,  as  he  dwelt  upon  the  joys  of  a  feast 
incognito  alone  with  Nell.  "A  belated 
goddess  would  sup  at  thy  hostelry."  The 
landlord's  eyes  grew  big  with  astonish 
ment.  "I  will  return.  Obey  her  every  wish, 
dost  hear,  her  every  wish,  and  leave  the 
bill  religiously  to  me. "Charles  swaggered 
gaily  up  the  steps  to  the  entry-way  and 
out  the  door. 

The  moon-face  of  the  inn-keeper  grew 
slowly  serious.  He  could  not  reconcile  the 
shabby,  road-bespattered  garments  of  the 
strange  cavalier  with  his  princely  com 
mands. 

"Body  o'  me!"  he  muttered,  lighting 
one  by  one  the  candles  in  the  room,  till 
the  rafters  fairly  glowed  in  expectation  of 
the  feast.  "Roundhead-beggar,  on  my  life ! 
Turbot  and  capons  and  the  best  vintage! 
The  King  could  not  have  better  than  this 

[    H4  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

rogue.  Marry,  he  shall  have  the  best  in 
the  larder;  but  Constable  Swallow  shall 
toast  his  feet  in  the  kitchen,  with  a  mug 
of  musty  ale  to  make  him  linger." 

The  corners  of  the  mouth  in  the  moon- 
face  ascended  in  a  chuckle. 

"His  ragged  lordship '11  settle  the  bill 
very  religiously,"  he  thought,  "or  sleep 
off  his  swollen  Roundhead  behind  the 
bars." 

He  passed  into  the  kitchen  and  gave 
the  order  for  the  repast.  As  he  returned, 
there  was  a  tap  at  the  door;  and  he  hast 
ened  to  the  window. 

"Bless  me,  a  petticoat!"  he  cried. 
"Well,  he's  told  the  truth  for  once.  She's 
veiled.  Ashamed  of  her  face  or  ashamed 
of  him." 

He  opened  the  door  and  ushered  in  a 
lady  dressed  in  white;  across  her  face  and 
eyes  was  thrown  a  scarf  of  lace. 

"Not  here?"  questioned  the  new 
comer,  glancing  eagerly  about  the  room 
and  peeping  into  every  nook  and  corner 
without  the  asking,  to  the  astonishment 
of  the  inn-keeper. 

[  145  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"Not  here?"  she  asked  herself  again, 
excitedly.  "Tell  me,  tell  me,  is  this  Ye 
Blue  Boar  Inn?" 

"Yes,  lady  — "  replied  the  landlord, 
graciously. 

"  Good,  good !  Has  she  been  here?  Have 
you  seen  her?" 

"Who,  the  goddess?"  asked  the  land 
lord,  stupidly. 

"The  goddess!"  retorted  Nell,  for  it 
was  none  other,  with  humorous  irony  of 
lip. "  How  can  you  so  belie  the  Duchess? " 
She  laughed  merrily  at  the  thought. 

There  was  a  second  knock;  and  the 
landlord  again  hastened  to  the  window. 

"'Tis  she;  'tis  she!"  exclaimed  Nell, 
excitedly.  "Haste  ye,  man;  I  am  in 
waiting!  What  has  she  on?  How  is  she 
dressed?" 

"  Body  o'  me ! "  exclaimed  the  landlord, 
in  awe,  as  he  craned  his  neck  at  the  sash. 
"'Tis  a  lady  of  quality." 

"Bad  quality,"  ejaculated  Nell. 

"She  has  come  in  a  chair  of  silver," 
cried  the  landlord. 

"My  chair  shall  be  of  beaten  gold, 

[  H6  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

then,"  thought  Nell,  with  a  twinkle  of  the 
eye.  "Charles,  you  must  raise  the  taxes." 

"Mercy  me,  the  great  lady's  coming 
in,"  continued  the  landlord,  beside  him 
self  in  his  excitement. 

"  She  shall  be  welcome,  most  welcome, 
landlord,"  observed  Nell  promptly. 

"  Body  o'  me!  What  shall  I  say? "asked 
the  landlord,  in  trembling  accents. 

"  Faith  and  troth,"  replied  Nell,  coming 
to  his  rescue,  "  I  will  do  the  parlez-vous- 
ing  with  her  ladyship.  Haste  thee,  thou 
grinning  fat  man."  She  glided  quickly 
into  a  corner  of  the  old  fireplace,  where 
she  could  not  be  observed  so  readily. 

The  Duchess  of  Portsmouth  entered, 
with  all  the  haughty  grandeur  of  a  queen. 
She  glanced  about  contemptuously,  and 
her  lip  could  be  seen  to  curl,  even  through 
the  veil  which  partially  hid  her  face. 

"This  bourgeois  place,"  she  said,  "to 
sup  with  the  King!  It  cannot  be!  Gar^on!" 

"What  a  voice,"  reflected  Nell,  in  her 

hiding-place,  "in  which  to  sigh,  'I  love 

>  )> 
you. 

"Barbarous  place!"  exclaimed  Ports- 

[  147 1 


Mistress  Nell 


mouth.  "His  Majesty  must  have  lost  his 
wits." 

She  smiled  complacently,  however,  as 
she  reflected  that  the  King  might  consent 
even  within  these  walls  and  that  his  sign- 
manual,  if  so  secured,  would  be  as  bind 
ing  as  if  given  in  a  palace. 

"Garpon!"  again  she  called,  irritably. 

Nell  was  meanwhile  inspecting  her  ri 
val  from  top  to  toe.  Nothing  escaped  her 
quick  eye.  "  I  '11  wager  her  complexion 
needs  a  veil,"  she  muttered,  with  vixenish 
glee. "  That  gown  is  an  insult  to  her  native 
France." 

"Gar$on;  answer  me,"  commanded 
Portsmouth,  fretfully. 

The  landlord  had  danced  about  her 
grace  in  such  anxiety  to  please  that  he 
had  displeased.  He  had  not  learned  the 
courtier's  art  of  being  ever  present,  yet 
never  in  the  way. 

"Yes,  your  ladyship,"  he  stupidly  re 
peated  again  and  again.  "What  would 
your  ladyship?" 

"Did  a  prince  leave  commands  for 
supper?"  she  asked,  impatiently. 

[  -48  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"  No,  your  ladyship,"  he  replied,  ob 
sequiously.  "A  ragged  rogue  ordered  a 
banquet  and  then  ran  away,  your  lady 
ship." 

"How,  sirrah?"  she  questioned,  an 
grily,  though  the  poor  landlord  had 
meant  no  discourtesy. 

"If  he  knew  his  guests,  he  would 
ne'er  return,"  softly  laughed  Nell. 

"  Par  bleu"  continued  Portsmouth,  in 
her  French,  impatient  way,  now  quite  in 
censed  by  the  stupidity  of  the  landlord, 
"a  cavalier  would  meet  me  at  Ye  Blue 
Boar  Inn;  so  said  the  messenger." 

She  suddenly  caught  sight  of  Nell, 
whose  biting  curiosity  had  led  her  from 
her  hiding-place.  "This  is  not  the  ren 
dezvous,"  she  reflected  quickly.  "We 
were  to  sup  alone." 

The  landlord  still  bowed  and  still  ut 
tered  the  meaningless  phrase:  "Yes,  your 
ladyship." 

The  Duchess  was  at  the  end  of  her  pa 
tience.  " Mon  Dieu"  she  exclaimed,  "do 
you  know  nothing,  sirrah?" 

The    moon-face    beamed.   The    head 

[    H9  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


bowed  and  bowed  and  bowed;  the  hands 
were  rubbed  together  graciously. 

"Good  lack,  I  know  not;  a  supper  for 
a  king  was  ordered  by  a  ragged  Round 
head,"  he  replied.  "  Here  are  two  petti 
coats,  your  ladyship.  When  I  know  which 
petticoat  is  which  petticoat,  your  lady 
ship,  I  will  serve  the  dinner." 

The  tavern-keeper  sidled  toward  the 
kitchen-door.  As  he  went  out,  he  mut 
tered,  judiciously  low:  "I  wouldn't  give 
a  ha'penny  for  the  choice." 

"Beggar!"  snapped  Portsmouth. 
"Musty  place,  musty  furniture,  musty 
gar  f  on,  musty  everything!" 

She  stood  aloof  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  as  if  fearful  lest  she  might  be  con 
taminated  by  her  surroundings. 

Nell  approached  her  respectfully. 

"You  may  like  it  better  after  supper, 
madame,"  she  suggested,  mildly.  "A  good 
spread,  sparkling  wine  and  most  congenial 
company  have  cast  a  halo  o'er  more  time- 
begrimed  rafters  than  these." 

'Who  are  you,  madame?"  inquired 
the  Duchess,  haughtily. 

[  150] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"A  fellow-passenger  on  the  earth," 
gently  replied  Nell,  "and  a  lover  of  good 
company,  and  —  some  wine." 

"  Yes? "  said  the  Duchess,  in  a  way  that 
only  a  woman  can  ask  and  answer  a  ques 
tion  with  a  "yes"  and  with  a  look  such 
as  only  a  woman  can  give  another  woman 
when  she  asks  and  answers  that  little  ques 
tion  with  a  "yes." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause. 

The  Duchess  continued :  "  Perhaps  you 
have  seen  the  cavalier  I  await." 

"Marry,  not  I,"  replied  Nell,promptly ; 
and  she  bethought  her  that  she  had  kept 
a  pretty  sharp  lookout  for  him,  too. 

"Is  this  a  proper  place  for  a  lady  to 
visit?"  pompously  inquired  the  Duchess. 

"You  raise  the  first  doubt,"  said  Nell 
quickly. 

"Madame!"  exclaimed  Portsmouth, 
interrupting  her,  with  fiery  indignation. 

"  I  say,  you  are  the  first  to  question  the 
propriety  of  the  place,"  explained  Nell, 
apologetically,  though  she  delighted  in 
wardly  at  the  intended  shot  which  she 
had  given  her  grace. 


Mistress  Nell 


"  I  came  by  appointment,"  continued 
the  Duchess;  "but  it  seems  I  was  mis 
led.  Garpon,  my  chair!" 

The  Duchess  made  a  move  toward  the 
door,  but  Nell's  words  stopped  her. 

"Be  patient,  Duchess!  He  is  too  gal 
lant  to  desert  you." 

"She  knows  me!"  thought  Ports 
mouth.  She  turned  sharply  upon  the 
stranger.  "  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of 
your  acquaintance,  madame." 

"Such  is  my  loss,  not  yours,"  replied 
Nell,  suavely. 

"Remove  your  veil,"  commanded  the 
Duchess;  and  her  eyes  flashed  through 
her  own. 

"  I  dare  not  before  the  beauty  of  Ver 
sailles,"  continued  Nell,  sweetly.  "Re 
move  yours  first.  Then  I  may  take  mine 
off  unseen." 

"Do  I  know  you?"  suspiciously  in 
quired  Portsmouth. 

"I  fear  not,"  said  Nell,  meekly,  and 
she  courtesied  low.  "I  am  but  an  hum 
ble  player — called  Nell  Gwyn." 

The  Duchess  raised  herself  to  her  full 
height.  [  152  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"Nell  Gwyn!"  she  hissed,  and  she 
fairly  tore  off  her  veil. 

"Your  grace's  most  humble  servant," 
said  Nell,  again  courtesying  low  and 
gracefully  removing  her  veil. 

"This  is  a  trap,"  exclaimed  the  Duch 
ess,  as  she  realized  the  situation. 

"Heaven  bless  the  brain  that  set  it 
then,"  sweetly  suggested  Nell. 

"Your  own,  minx,"  snapped  Ports 
mouth.  "I'll  not  look  at  the  hussy!"  she 
muttered.  She  crossed  the  room  and  seated 
herself  upon  the  bench,  back  to  Nell. 

"Your  grace  would  be  more  kind  if 
you  knew  my  joy  at  seeing  you." 

"  And  why? "  asked  the  Duchess,  ironi 
cally. 

"I  would  emulate  your  warmth  and 
amiability,"  tenderly  responded  Nell. 

"Yes?"  said  Portsmouth;  but  how 
much  again  there  was  in  her  little  "yes," 
accented  as  it  was  with  a  French  shrug. 

"I  adore  a  beautiful  woman,"  contin 
ued  Nell,  "especially  when  I  know  her 
to  be  —  " 

"A  successful    rival?"    triumphantly 

[  153  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


asked  the  Duchess. 

"A  rival!"  exclaimed  Nell,  in  well- 
feigned  astonishment,  still  toying  with 
the  Duchess's  temper.  "  Is  the  poor  ac 
tress  so  honoured  in  a  duchess's  thought? 
Your  grace  is  generous." 

If  all  the  angels  had  united,  they  could 
not  have  made  her  speech  more  sweet  or 
her  manner  more  enticing. 

"I  presumed  you  might  conceive  it 
so,"  replied  Portsmouth,  with  mocking, 
condescending  mien. 

Nell  approached  her  timidly  and  spoke 
softly,  lovingly,  subserviently. 

"  A  rival  to  the  great  Duchess  of  Ports 
mouth!"  she  said.  "Perish  the  thought! 
It  is  with  trepidation  I  look  upon  your 
glorious  face,  madame ;  a  figure  that  would 
tempt  St.  Anthony;  a  foot  so  small  it 
makes  us  swear  the  gods  have  lent  in 
visible  wings  to  waft  you  to  your  con 
quest.  Nay,  do  not  turn  your  rosy  lip  in 
scorn;  I  am  in  earnest,  so  in  earnest,  that, 
were  I  but  a  man,  I  would  bow  me  down 
your  constant  slave — unless  perchance 
you  should  grow  fat." 

[  -54] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

The  turn  was  delicious:  Nell's  face  was 
a  study;  and  so  was  Portsmouth's. 

The  Duchess  sprang  to  her  feet,  real 
izing  fully  for  the  first  time  that  she  had 
been  trapped  and  trifled  with.  "Hussy! 
Beware  your  own  lacings,"  she  angrily 
exclaimed,  turning  now  full  face  upon 
her  adversary. 

Nell  was  leaning  against  the  table  across 
the  room,  quietly  observing  Portsmouth 
upon  the  word-wrack.  Her  whole  manner 
had  changed.  She  watched  with  evident 
delight  the  play  of  discomfiture,  mingled 
with  contempt,  upon  the  beautiful  Duch 
ess's  face. 

"  Me  fat ! "  she  derisively  laughed.  "  Be 
sure  I  shall  never  grow  too  much  so.  And 
have  not  the  stars  said  I  shall  ne'er  grow 
old?  " 

"Your  stars  are  falser  than  yourself," 
tartly  snapped  the  Duchess. 

"Mayhap,"  said  Nell,  still  gleeful; 
"but  mark  you  this  truth:  I  shall  reign 
queen  of  Love  and  Laughter  while  I  live, 
and  die  with  the  first  wrinkle." 

She  was  interrupted  by  his  Majesty, 

[  '55  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


who,  unsuspecting,  swaggered  into  the 
room  in  buoyant  spirits. 

"The  King!"  exclaimed  Nell,  as  she 
slyly  glanced  over  her  shoulder. 

The  King  looked  at  one  woman  and 
then  at  the  other  in  dismay  and  horror. 

"  Scylla  and  Charybdis! "  he  muttered, 
nervously,  glancing  about  for  means  of  es 
cape.  "  All  my  patron-saints  protect  me ! " 

Nell  was  by  his  side  in  an  instant. 

"Good  even'  to  your  Majesty,"  she 
roguishly  exclaimed.  "  How  can  I  ever 
thank  you,  Sire,  for  inviting  the  Duch 
ess  to  sup  with  me!  I  have  been  eager  to 
meet  her  ladyship." 

"  Ods-pitikins,"  he  thought,  "a  loop 
hole  for  me." 

"Well, — you  see  —  "  he  said,  "a  little 
surprise,  Nelly,  —  a  little  surprise — for 
me."  The  last  two  words  were  not  audible 
to  his  hearers.  He  looked  at  the  beau 
tiful  rivals  an  instant,  then  ventured,  "  I 
hoped  to  be  in  time  to  introduce  you, 
ladies." 

"Oh,  your  Majesty,"  asserted  Nell, 
consolingly,  "we  are  already  quite  well 

[  156  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

acquainted.  I  knew  her  grace  through 
her  veil." 

"No  doubt  on't,"  observed  the  King, 
knowingly. 

"  Yes,  Sire,"  said  the  Duchess,  haugh 
tily,  casting  a  frigid  glance  at  Nell,  "I 
warrant  we  understand  each  other  per 
fectly." 

"  Better  and  better,"  said  Charles,  with 
a  sickly  laugh. 

His  Majesty  saw  rocks  and  shoals 
ahead,  and  his  wits  could  find  no  chan 
nel  of  escape.  He  turned  in  dire  distress 
upon  Nell,  who  stood  aloof.  She  looked 
up  into  his  face  with  the  innocence  of  a 
babe  in  every  feature. 

"Minx,  this  is  your  work!"  he  whis 
pered. 

"Yes,  Sire!"  she  answered,  mock-re 
provingly,  bending  quite  to  the  floor  as 
she  courtesied  low. 

'"Yes,  Sire.'  Baggage!"  he  exclaimed 
good-naturedly  despite  himself. 

As  he  turned  away,  praying  Heaven 
to  see  him  out  of  the  difficulty,  he  ob 
served  the  landlord,  who  had  just  entered 

[  157 1 


Mistress  Nell 


with  bread  and  cups,  muttering  some  du 
bious  invocations  to  himself.  He  clutched 
at  this  piece  of  human  stupidity  —  like  a 
drowning  man  clutching  at  a  straw:  "Ah, 
landlord,  bring  in  what  we  live  for;  and 
haste  ye,  sirrah.  The  wine!  The  wine!" 

"It  is  ready,  sir,"  obsequiously  replied 
the  landlord,  who  had  just  sense  enough 
in  his  dull  cranium  to  reflect  also,  by 
way  of  complement,  "  So  is  Constable 
Swallow." 

"Good  news,  good  news!"  cried 
Charles;  and  he  tossed  his  plumed  hat 
upon  the  sideboard,  preparatory  to  the 
feast.  "D'ye  hear,  my  fair  and  loving 
friends?  Come,  it  is  impolite  to  keep  the 
capons  waiting.  My  arms;  my  arms!" 

The  King  stepped  gallantly  between 
the  ladies,  making  a  bold  play  for  peace. 
The  Duchess  took  one  arm  formally. 
Nell  seized  the  remaining  arm  and  al 
most  hugged  his  Majesty,  nestling  her 
head  affectionately  against  his  shoulder. 
Charles  observed  the  decorum  of  due  dig 
nity.  He  was  impartial  to  a  fault;  for  he 
realized  that  there  only  lay  his  salvation. 

[  158  ] ' 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

The  phalanx  approached  the  feast  in 
solemn  march.  The  King  tossed  his  head 
proudly  and  observed:  "Who  would  not 
play  the  thorn  with  two  such  buds  to 
blush  on  either  side?" 

There  was  a  halt.  The  Duchess  looked 
coldly  at  the  table,  then  coldly  at  the 
King,  then  more  coldly  at  Nell.  The 
King  looked  at  each  inquiringly. 

"  I  thought  your  Majesty  ordered  sup 
per  for  three,"  she  said.  "  It  is  set  for  two." 

"Odsfish,  for  two!"  cried  Charles, 
glancing,  anxiously,  for  the  first  time  at 
the  collation. 

Nell  had  taken  her  place  at  the  feast, 
regardless  of  formality.  She  was  looking 
out  for  herself,  irrespective  of  King  or 
Duchess.  She  believed  that  a  dinner,  like 
the  grave,  renders  all  equal. 

"Egad!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  dwelt 
upon  the  force  of  the  Duchess's  observa 
tion.  "  Our  host  is  teaching  us  the  virtues 
of  economy." 

The  unsuspecting  landlord  re-entered 
at  this  moment,  wine  in  hand,  which  he 
proceeded  to  place  upon  the  table. 

[  159  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"What  do  you  mean,  knave,  by  this 
treachery!"  almost  shrieked  the  King  at 
sight  of  him.  "Another  plate,  dost  hear; 
another  plate,  dog!" 

"  Bless  me,"  explained  the  landlord,  in 
confusion,  "you  said  supper  for  two,  sir; 
that  a  man  was  a  fool  who  dined  more; 
that  the  third  was  expensive  and  in  the 
way." 

"  Villain ! "  cried  Charles,  in  a  hopeless 
effort  to  suppress  the  fellow,  "  I  said  two 
—  two  —  beside  myself.  I  never  count 
myself  in  the  presence  of  these  ladies." 

The  landlord  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

The  Duchess  smiled  a  chilling  smile, 
and  asked  complacently: 

"  Which  one  of  us  did  you  expecl:, 
Sire?" 

"Yes,  which  did  you  expe6l,  Sire?" 
laughed  Nell. 

"Oh,  my  head,"  groaned  Charles; 
"well,  well,  —  you  see — Duchess,  the 
matter  lies  in  this  wise  — 

"Let  me  help  your  Majesty,"  gener 
ously  interrupted  Nell.  "  Her  ladyship  is 
ill  at  figures.  You  see,  Charles  and  I  are 
[   160  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  'Time 

one,  and  you  make  two,  Duchess." 

"I  spoke  to  the  King,"  haughtily  re 
plied  the  Duchess,  not  deigning  to  glance 
at  Nell. 

The  King  placed  his  hands  upon  his 
forehead  in  bewilderment. 

"This  is  a  question  for  the  Prime  Min 
ister  and  sages  of  the  realm  in  council." 

"There  are  but  two  chairs,  Sire,"  con 
tinued  Portsmouth,  coldly. 

"Two  chairs!"  exclaimed  the  Merry 
Monarch,  aghast,  as  he  saw  the  breach 
hopelessly  widening.  "I  am  lost." 

"  That  is  serious,  Sire,"  said  Nell,  sadly ; 
and  then  her  eye  twinkled  as  she  sug 
gested,  "  but  perhaps  we  might  make  out 
with  one,  for  the  Duchess's  sake.  I  am  so 
little." 

She  turned  her  head  and  laughed  gaily, 
while  she  watched  the  Duchess's  face  out 
of  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

"'Sheart,"  sighed  the  King,  "I  have 
construed  grave  controversies  of  state  in 
my  time,  but  ne'er  drew  the  line  yet  be 
twixt  black  eyes  and  blue,  brunette  and 
blonde,  when  both  were  present.  Another 

[   161   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


chair,  landlord!  Come,  my  sweethearts; 
eat,  drink  and  forget." 

The  King  threw  himself  carelessly  into 
a  chair  in  the  hope  that,  in  meat  and  drink, 
he  might  find  peace. 

"Aye,"  acquiesced  Nell,  who  was  al 
ready  at  work,  irrespective  of  ceremony, 
"eat,  drink  and  forget!  I  prefer  to  quarrel 
after  supper." 

"  I  do  not,"  said  the  Duchess,  who  still 
stood  indignant  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 

Nell  could  scarce  speak,  for  her  mouth 
ful;  but  she  replied  gaily,  with  a  French 
shrug,  in  imitation  of  the  Duchess: 

"  Oh,  very  well !  I  have  a  solution.  Let 's 
play  sphinx,  Sire." 

Charles  looked  up  hopefully. 

"Anything  for  peace,"  he  exclaimed. 
"How  is't?" 

"  Why,"  explained  Nell,  with  the  phil 
osophical  air  of  a  learned  doctor,  "some 
years  before  you  and  I  thought  much 
about  the  ways  and  means  of  this  wicked 
world,  your  Majesty,  the  Sphinx  spent 
her  leisure  asking  people  riddles;  and  if 
they  could  not  answer,  she  ate  them  alive. 

[  162] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Give  me  some  of  that  turbot.  Don't  stand 
on  ceremony,  Sire ;  for  the  Duchess  is  wait- 
ing." 

The  King  hastened  to  refill  Nell's  plate. 

"Thank  you,"  laughed  the  vixen; 
"that  will  do  for  now.  Let  the  Duchess 
propound  a  riddle  from  the  depths  of  her 
subtle  brain;  and  if  I  do  not  fathom  it 
upon  the  instant,  Sire,  'tis  the  Duchess's 
—  not  Nell's — evening  with  the  King." 

"  Odsfish,  a  great  stake ! "  cried  Charles. 
He  arose  with  a  serio-comic  air,  much 
pleased  at  the  turn  things  were  taking. 

"Don't  be  too  confident,  madame," 
ironically  suggested  the  Duchess;  "you 
are  cleverer  in  making  riddles  than  in 
solving  them." 

As  she  spoke,  the  room  was  suddenly 
filled  with  savoury  odour.  The  moon 
faced  landlord  had  again  appeared,  flour 
ishing  a  platter  containing  two  finely 
roasted  chickens.  His  face  glowed  with 
pride  and  ale. 

"The  court's  famished,"  exclaimed 
Charles,  as  he  greeted  the  inn-keeper; 
"proceed!" 

[  '63  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"Two  capons!  I  have  it,"  trium 
phantly  thought  Portsmouth,  as  she  re- 
fle6ted  upon  a  riddle  she  had  once  heard 
in  far-off  France.  It  could  not  be  known 
in  England.  Nothing  so  clever  could  be 
known  in  England.  She  looked  con 
temptuously  at  Nell,  and  then  at  the  two 
chickens,  as  she  propounded  it. 

"Let  your  wits  find  then  three  capons 
on  this  plate." 

"Three  chickens!"  cried  Charles,  in 
wonderment,  closely  scrutinizing  the  two 
fowl  upon  the  plate  and  then  looking  up 
inquiringly  at  the  Duchess.  "There  are 
but  two." 

Nell  only  gurgled. 

"Another  glass,  landlord,  and  I  '11  see 
four,"  she  said.  "Here's  to  you  two, 
and  to  me  too."  She  drank  gaily  to  her 
toast. 

"That  is  not  the  answer,  madame," 
coldly  retorted  the  Duchess. 

"Are  we  come  to  blows  over  two  inno 
cent  chickens? "  asked  Charles,  somewhat 
concerned  still  for  the  outcome.  "Bring 
on  your  witnesses." 

t  i64  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"This  is  one  chicken,  your  Majesty," 
declared  the  Duchess.  "Another's  two; 
and  two  and  one  make  three." 

With  much  formality  and  something 
of  the  air  of  a  conjurer,  she  counted  the 
first  chicken  and  the  second  chicken  and 
then  recounted  the  first  chicken,  in  such 
a  way  as  to  make  it  appear  that  there  were 
three  birds  in  all. 

The  King,  who  was  ill  at  figures,  like 
all  true  spendthrifts,  sat  confused  by  her 
speech.  Nell  laughed  again.  The  land 
lord,  who  was  in  and  out,  stopped  long 
enough  to  enter  upon  his  bill,  in  ram 
bling  characters,  "3  chickens."  This  was 
all  his  dull  ear  had  comprehended.  He 
then  piously  proceeded  on  his  way. 

"Gadso!"  exclaimed  the  King,  woe 
fully.  "It  is  too  much  for  me." 

"Pooh,  pooh,  'tis  too  simple  for  you, 
Sire,"  laughed  Nell.  "  I  solved  it  when  a 
child.  Here  is  my  bird;  and  here  is  your 
bird;  and  our  dearest  Duchess  shall  sup 
on  her  third  bird!" 

Nell  quickly  spitted  one  chicken  upon 
a  huge  fork  and  so  removed  it  to  her  own 


Mistress  Nell 


plate.  The  second  chicken,  she  likewise 
conveyed  to  his  Majesty's.  Then,  with 
all  the  politeness  which  she  only  could 
summon,  she  bowed  low  and  offered  the 
empty  platter  to  the  Duchess. 

Portsmouth  struck  it  to  the  board  an 
grily  with  her  gloved  hand  and  steadied 
herself  against  the  table. 

"Hussy!"  she  hissed,  and  forthwith 
pretended  to  grow  faint. 

Charles  was  at  her  elbow  in  an  instant, 
supporting  her. 

"Oh,  —  Sire,  I  — "  she  continued,  in 
her  efforts  to  speak. 

"  What  is  it? "  cried  Charles,  seriously, 
endeavouring  to  assist  her. "  You  are  pale, 
Louise." 

"  I  am  faint,"  replied  she,  with  much 
difficulty.  "  Pardon  my  longer  audience, 
Sire;  I  am  not  well.  Gar f on,  my  chair. 
Assist  me  to  the  door." 

The  fat  landlord  made  a  hasty  exit,  for 
him,  toward  the  street,  in  his  desire  to 
help  the  great  lady.  Charles  supported 
her  to  the  threshold. 

"Call  a  leech,  Sire,"  cried  Nell  after 
[  166  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

them,  with  mock  sympathy.  "  Her  grace 
has  choked  on  a  chicken-bone." 

"  Be  still,  wench,"  commanded  the 
King.  "  Do  not  leave  us,  Louise;  it  breaks 
the  sport." 

"Nay,"  pleaded  Nell  also,  "do  not 
go  because  of  this  little  merry-making, 
Duchess.  I  desire  we  may  become  better 
friends." 

Her  voice  revived  the  Duchess. 

"Sansdoute,  we  shall,  madame,"  Ports 
mouth  replied,  coldly.  "A  mon  ball  Pas 
adieu,  mais  au  revoir." 

The  great  Duchess  courtesied  low, 
kissed  the  King's  hand,  arose  to  her  full 
height  and,  with  an  eye-shot  at  Nell,  took 
her  departure. 


CHAPTER     X 


Arrest  him  yourself! 


JL  HE  King  stood  at  the  door,  thought 
fully  reflecting  on  the  temper  of  the  de 
parting  Duchess.  She  wasa  maid  of  honour 
and,  more  than  that,  an  emissary  from  his 
brother  Louis  of  France.  Gossip  said  he 
loved  her,  but  it  was  not  true,  though  he 
liked  her  company  exceeding  well  when 
the  mood  suited.  He  regretted  only  the 
evening's  incident,  with  the  harsher  feel 
ing  it  was  sure  to  engender. 

Nell  stood  by  the  fireplace,  mutter 
ing  French  phrases  in  humorous  imita 
tion  of  her  grace.  Observing  the  King's 
preoccupation,  she  tossed  a  serviette  mer 
rily  at  his  head. 

This  brought  his  Majesty  to  himself 
again.  He  turned,  and  laughed  as  he  saw 
her;  for  his  brain  and  heart  delighted  in 
her  merry-making.  He  loved  her. 

"What  means  this  vile  French?"  she 
[  '68  ] 


A  Merry  T'a/e  of  a  Merry  Time 

asked,  with  delicious  suggestion  of  the 
shrug,  accent  and  manner  of  her  van 
quished  rival. 

"The  Duchess  means,"  explained  the 
King,  "that  she  gives  a  royal  ball  — " 

"And  invites  me?"  broke  in  Nell, 
quickly,  placing  her  elbows  upon  a  cask 
and  looking  over  it  impishly  at  Charles. 

"  And  invites  you  not"  said  the  King, 
"and  so  outwits  you." 

"  By  her  porters'  wits  and  not  her  own," 
retorted  Nell. 

She  threw  herself  into  a  chair  and  be 
came  oblivious  for  the  moment  of  her 
surroundings. 

"The  French  hussy!  So  she  gives  a 
ball?"  she  thought.  "Well,  well,  I'll  be 
there!  I'll  teach  her  much.  Oh,  I'll  be 
pretty,  too,  aye,  very  pretty.  No  fear  yet 
of  rivalry  or  harm  for  England." 

Charles  watched  her  amusedly,  ear 
nestly,  lovingly.  The  vixen  had  fallen 
unconsciously  into  imitating  again  the 
Duchess's  foreign  ways,  as  an  accompa 
niment  even  for  her  thoughts. 

'•''Sans  doute^  we  shall,  madame"  Nell 

[  '69  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


muttered  audibly,  with  much  gesticu 
lating  and  a  mocking  accent.  "A  mon 
ball  Pas  adieu^  mats  au  revoir" 

The  King  came  closer. 

"Are  you  ill,"  he  asked,  "that  you  do 
mutter  so  and  wildly  a<5t?" 

"  I  was  only  thinking  that,  if  I  were  a 
man,"  she  said,  turning  toward  him  play 
fully,  "  I  would  love  your  Duchess  to  de 
votion.  Her  wit  is  so  original,  her  repartee 
so  sturdy.  Your  Majesty's  taste  in  horses 
—  and  some  women  —  is  excellent." 

She  crossed  the  room  gaily  and  threw 
herself  laughing  upon  the  bench.  The 
King  followed  her. 

"Heaven  help  the  being,  naughty 
Nell,"  he  said,  "who  offends  thy  merry 
tongue;  but  I  love  thee  for  it."  He  sat 
down  beside  her  in  earnest  adoration,  then 
caught  her  lovingly  in  his  arms. 

"  Love  me? "  sighed  Nell,  scarce  mind 
ful  of  the  embrace.  "Ah,  Sire,  I  am  but 
a  plaything  for  the  King  at  best,  a  caprice, 
a  fancy — naught  else." 

"  Nay,  sweet,"  said  Charles,  "  you  have 
not  read  this  heart." 

[   170  ] 


A  Merry  Ta/e  of  a  Merry  Time 

"  I  have  read  it  too  deeply,"  replied 
Nell,  with  much  meaning  in  her  voice. 
"It  is  this  one  to-day,  that  one  to-morrow, 
with  King  Charles.  Ah,  Sire,  your  love 
for  the  poor  player-girl  is  summed  up 
in  three  little  words:  'I  amuse  you!" 

"Amuse  me!"  exclaimed  Charles, 
thoughtfully.  "Hark  ye,  Nell!  States 
may  marry  us;  they  cannot  make  us  love. 
Ye  Gods,  the  humblest  peasant  in  my 
realm  is  monarch  of  a  heart  of  his  own 
choice.  Would  I  were  such  a  king!" 

"What  buxom  country  lass,"  asked 
Nell,  sadly  but  wistfully,  "teaches  your 
fancy  to  follow  the  plough,  my  truant 
master?" 

"  You  forget :  I  too,"  continued  Charles, 
"  have  been  an  outcast,  like  Orange  Nell, 
seeking  a  crust  and  bed." 

He  arose  and  turned  away  sadly  to  sup 
press  his  emotion.  He  was  not  the  King 
of  England  now:  he  was  a  man  who  had 
suffered;  he  was  a  man  among  men. 

"  Forgive  me,  Sire,"  said  Nell,  tenderly, 
as  a  woman  only  can  speak, "  if  I  recall  un 
happy  times." 


Mistress  Nell 


"Unhappy!"  echoed  Charles,  while 
Fancy  toyed  with  Recollection. "  Nell,  in 
those  dark  days,  I  learned  to  read  the  hu 
man  heart.  God  taught  me  then  the  dis 
tinction  'twixt  friend  and  enemy.  When 
a  misled  rabble  had  dethroned  my  father, 
girl,  and  murdered  him  before  our  palace 
gate,  and  bequeathed  the  glorious  arts  and 
progressive  sciences  to  religious  bigots 
and  fanatics,  to  trample  under  foot  and 
burn — when,  if  a  little  bird  sang  over- 
joyously,  they  cut  out  his  tongue  for  dar 
ing  to  be  merry  —  in  some  lonely  home 
by  some  stranger's  hearth,  a  banished 
prince,  called  Charles  Stuart,  oft  found 
an  asylum  of  plenty  and  repose;  and  in 
your  eyes,  my  Nell,  I  read  the  self-same, 
loyal,  English  heart." 

There  was  all  the  sadness  of  great  music 
in  his  speech.  Nell  fell  upon  her  knee, 
and  kissed  his  hand,  reverently. 

"My  King!"  she  said;  and  her  voice 
trembled  with  passionate  love. 

He  raised  her  tenderly  and  kissed  her 
upon  the  lips. 

"My  queen,"  he  said;  and  his  voice 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

too  trembled  with  passionate  love. 

"  And  Milton  says  that  Paradise  is  lost," 
whispered  Nell.  Her  head  rested  on  the 
King's  shoulder.  She  looked  up  —  the 
picture  of  perfect  happiness  —  into  his 
eyes. 

"Not  while  Nell  loves  Charles,"  he 
said. 

"And  Charles  remembers  Nell,"  her 
voice  answered,  softly. 

Meanwhile,  the  rotund  landlord  had 
entered  unobserved;  and  a  contrast  he 
made,  indeed,  to  the  endearing  words  of 
the  lovers  as  at  this  instant  he  uncere 
moniously  burst  forth  in  guttural  accents 
with: 

"The  bill!  The  bill  for  supper,  sir!" 

Nell  looked  at  the  King  and  the  King 
looked  at  Nell;  then  both  looked  at  the 
landlord.  The  lovers'  sense  of  humour  was 
boundless.  That  was  their  first  tie;  the 
second,  their  hearts. 

"  The  bill ! "  repeated  Nell,  smothering 
a  laugh.  "Yes,  we  were  just  speaking  of 
the  bill." 

"  How  opportune ! "  exclaimed  Charles, 

[   '73  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


taking  the  cue.  "We  feared  you  would 
forget  it,  sirrah." 

"See  that  it  is  right,"  ejaculated  Nell. 

The  King  glanced  at  the  bill  indiffer 
ently,  but  still  could  not  fail  to  see  "  3 
chickens"  in  unschooled  hand.  His  eyes 
twinkled  and  he  glanced  at  the  landlord, 
but  the  latter  avoided  his  look  with  a  pre 
tence  of  innocence. 

"  Gad,"  said  Charles,  with  a  swagger, 
"what  are  a  few  extra  shillings  to  Parlia 
ment?  Here,  my  man."  He  placed  a  hand 
in  a  pocket,  but  found  it  empty.  "No; 
it  is  in  the  other  pocket."  He  placed 
his  hand  in  another,  only  to  find  it  also 
empty.  Then  he  went  through  the  re 
maining  pockets,  one  by  one,  turning 
them  each  out  for  inspection  —  his  face 
assuming  an  air  of  mirthful  hopelessness 
as  he  proceeded.  He  had  changed  his 
garb  for  a  merry  lark,  but  had  neglected 
to  change  his  purse.  "Devil  on't,  I  — 
have  —  forgotten  —  Odsfish,  where  is  my 
treasurer?"  he  exclaimed  at  last. 

"Your  treasurer!"  shrieked  the  land 
lord,  who  had  watched  Charles's  search, 

[  -74  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

with  twitching  eyes.  "  Want  your  treas 
urer,  do  ye?  Constable  Swallow '11  find 
him  for  ye.  Constable  Swallow!  I  knew 
you  were  a  rascal,  by  your  face." 

Charles  laughed. 

This  exasperated  the  landlord  still  fur 
ther.  He  began  to  flutter  about  the  room 
aimlessly,  bill  in  hand.  He  presented  it  to 
Charles  and  he  presented  it  to  Nell,  who 
would  have  none  of  it;  while  at  intervals 
he  called  loudly  for  the  constable. 

"  Peace,  my  man,"  entreated  Nell ;  "  be 
still  for  mercy's  sake." 

"Good  lack,  my  lady,"  pleaded  the 
landlord,  in  despair,  "good  lack,  but  you 
would  not  see  a  poor  man  robbed  by  a  vag 
abond,  would  ye?  Constable  Swallow! " 

The  situation  was  growing  serious  in 
deed.  The  King  was  mirthful  still,  but 
Nell  was  fearful. 

"  Nell,  have  you  no  money  to  stop  this 
heathen's  mouth?"  he  finally  ejaculated, 
as  he  caught  up  his  bonnet  and  tossed  it 
jauntily  upon  his  head. 

"  Not  a  farthing,"  replied  she,  sharply. 
"  I  was  invited  to  sup,  not  pay  the  bill." 

[  '75  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"If  the  King  knew  this  rascal,"  yelled 
the  landlord  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  point 
ing  to  Charles,  "he  would  be  behind  the 
bars  long  ago." 

This  was  too  much  for  his  Majesty, 
who  broke  into  the  merriest  of  laughs. 

"Verily,  I  believe  you,"  he  admitted. 
Then  he  fell  to  laughing  again,  almost 
rolling  off  the  bench  in  his  glee. 

"Master  Constable,"  wildly  repeated 
the  landlord,  at  the  kitchen-door.  "Let 
my  new  wife  alone;  they  are  making  off 
with  the  house." 

Nell  was  filled  with  consternation. 

"  He'll  raise  the  neighbourhood,  Sire," 
she  whispered  to  Charles.  "  Have  you  no 
money  to  stop  this  heathen's  mouth?" 

"  Not  even  holes  in  my  pockets,"  calmly 
replied  the  Merry  Monarch. 

"  Odsfish,  what  company  am  I  got 
into!"  sighed  Nell.  She  ran  to  the  land 
lord  and  seized  his  arm  in  her  endeavour 
to  quiet  him. 

The  landlord,  however,  was  beside 
himself.  He  stood  at  the  kitchen-door 
gesticulating  ferociously  and  still  shout- 

[  176  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

ing  at  the  top  of  his  voice:  "Constable 
Swallow!  Help,  help;  thieves;  Constable 
Swallow!" 

Swallow  staggered  into  the  room  with 
all  his  dignity  aboard.  Tankard  in  hand, 
he  made  a  dive  for  the  table,  and  catch 
ing  it  firmly,  surveyed  the  scene. 

Nell  turned  to  her  lover  for  protection. 

"Murder,  hie!"  ejaculated  the  con 
stable.  "Thieves!  What's  the  row?  — 
Hie!" 

"  Arrest  this  blackguard,"  commanded 
the  landlord,  nervously,  "  this  perfiler  of 
honest  men." 

"  Arrest !  — You  drunken  idiot ! "  indig 
nantly  exclaimed  Charles;  and  his  sword 
cut  the  air  before  the  constable's  eyes. 

Nell  seized  his  arm.  Her  woman's  in 
tuition  showed  her  the  better  course. 

"You  will  raise  a  nest  of  them,"  she 
whispered.  "You  need  your  wits,  Sire; 
not  your  sword." 

"  Nay;  come  on,  I  say,"  cried  Charles, 
fearlessly.  "We'll  see  what  his  Majesty's 
constables  are  made  of." 

"You  rogue — Posse  /"exclaimed  Swal- 

[   177  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


low,  starting  boldly  for  the  King,  then 
making  a  brilliant  retreat,  calling  loudly 
for  help,  as  the  rapier  tickled  him  in  the 
ribs. 

"You  ruffian  —  Posse!"  he  continued 
to  call,  alternately,  first  to  one  and  then  to 
the  other;  for  his  fear  paralyzed  all  but 
his  tongue.  "You  outlaw — Posse  commi- 
ti-titous — hie ! " 

Buzzard  also  now  entered  from  his 
warm  nest  in  the  kitchen,  so  intoxicated 
that  he  vented  his  enthusiasm  in  song, 
which  in  this  case  seemed  apt: 

"The  man  that  is  drunk  is  as  great  as  a  king." 

"Another  champion  of  the  King's 
law!"  ejaculated  Charles,  not  without  a 
shadow  of  contempt  in  his  voice,  once 
more  assuming  an  attitude  of  defence. 

"Oh,  Charles!"  pleaded  Nell,  again 
catching  his  arm. 

"  Posse ,  arrest  that  vagabond,"  com 
manded  the  constable,  from  a  point  of 
safety  behind  the  table. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,"  replied  the  obedient 
Buzzard.  "On  what  charge  —  hie?" 

[  178  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"He's  a  law-breaker  and  a  robber!" 
yelled  the  watchful  landlord. 

"  He  called  the  law  a  drunken  idiot. 
Hie  —  hie!"  woefully  wailed  Swallow. 
"Odsbud,  that's  treason!  Arrest  him, 
posse — hie!" 

"  Knave,  I  arrest — hie ! "  asserted  Buz 
zard. 

The  posse  started  boldly  enough  for  his 
game,  but  was  suddenly  brought  to  a  stand 
still  in  his  reeling  course  by  the  sharp 
point  of  the  rapier  playing  about  his  legs. 
He  made  several  indignant  efforts  to  over 
come  the  obstacle.  The  point  of  the  blade 
was  none  too  gentle  with  him,  even  as  he 
beat  a  retreat;  and  his  enthusiasm  waned. 

"Arrest  him  yourself — hie!"  he  ex 
claimed. 

Swallow's  face  grew  red  with  rage.  To 
have  his  orders  disobeyed  fired  him  with 
much  more  indignation  of  soul  than  the 
escape  of  the  ruffian,  who  was  simply 
defrauding  the  landlord  of  a  dinner.  He 
turned  hotly  upon  the  insubordinate  fosse, 
crying: 

"I'll  arrest  you,  you  Buzzard  —  hie!" 

[    179  1 


Mistress  Nell 


"I'll  arrest  you,  you  Swallow  —  hie!" 
with  equal  dignity  retorted  Buzzard. 

"I'm  his  Majesty's  constable  —  hie!" 
hissed  Swallow,  from  lips  charged  with 
air,  bellows-like. 

"  I  'm  his  Majesty's/tf-n^ — hie ! "  hissed 
Buzzard  in  reply. 

The  two  drunken  representatives  of 
the  law  seized  each  other  angrily.  The 
landlord,  in  despair,  endeavoured  hope 
lessly  to  separate  them. 

"A  wrangle  of  the  generals,"  laughed 
Charles.  "Now  is  our  time."  He  looked 
about  quickly  for  an  exit. 

"Body  o'  me!  The  vagabonds '11  es 
cape,"  shouted  the  landlord. 

"Fly,  fly!"  said  Nell.  "This  way, 
Charles." 

She  ran  hastily  toward  the  steps  lead 
ing  to  the  entry-way;  the  King  assisted 
her. 

"Stop,  thief!  Stop,  thief!"  screamed 
the  landlord.  "The  bill!  The  bill!" 

"Send  it  to  the  Duchess!"  replied 
Nell,  gaily,  as  she  and  the  Merry  Mon 
arch  darted  into  the  night. 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

The  landlord  turned  in  despair,  to  find 
the  drunken  champions  of  the  King's 
law  in  a  struggling  heap  upon  the  floor. 
He  raised  his  foot  and  took  out  vengeance 
where  vengeance  could  be  found. 


CHAPTER     XI 


In  the  field,  men;  at  court  y  women! 

XT  was  the  evening  of  Portsmouth's 
long-awaited  bal  masque.  Music  filled 
her  palace  with  rhythmic  sound.  In  the 
gardens,  its  mellowing  strains  died  away 
among  the  shrubs  and  over-hanging 
boughs.  In  every  nook  and  corner  wan 
dered  at  will  the  nobility  —  the  richest — 
the  greatest  —  in  the  land. 

None  entertain  like  the  French ;  and  the 
Duchess  had,  indeed,  exhausted  French 
art  in  turning  the  grand  old  place  into  a 
land  of  ravishing  enchantment,  with  its 
many  lights,  its  flowers,  its  works  of  art. 
Her  abode  was  truly  an  enlivening  scene, 
with  its  variety  of  maskers,  bright  domi 
noes  and  vizards. 

The  King  was  there  and  took  a  merry 
part  in  all  the  sport,  although,  beneath 
his  swaggering  abandon,  there  lurked  a 
vein  of  sadness.  He  laughed  heartily,  he 

[  182  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

danced  gaily,  he  jested  with  one  and  all; 
but  his  manner  was  assumed.  The  shrewd 
est  woman's  eye  could  not  have  seen  it; 
though  she  might  have  felt  it.  Brother 
James  too  enjoyed  the  dance,  despite  his 
piety;  and  Buckingham,  Rochester  and  a 
score  of  courtiers  beloved  by  the  King  en 
tered  mirthfully  into  the  scene,  applaud 
ing  the  Duchess's  entertainment  heartily. 

As  the  evening  wore  apace,  the  merry 
maskers  grew  merrier  and  merrier.  In  a 
drawing-room  adjoining  the  great  ball 
room,  a  robber-band,  none  other  than  sev 
eral  gallants,  whose  identity  was  concealed 
by  silken  vizards,  created  huge  amuse 
ment  by  endeavouring  to  steal  a  kiss  from 
Lady  Hamilton.  She  feigned  shyness, 
then  haughtiness,  then  anger;  then  she 
ran.  They  were  after  her  and  about  her  in 
an  instant.  There  were  cries  of  "A  kiss!" 
"A  kiss!"  "This  way!"  "Make  a  circle 
or  she  '11  escape  us ! " 

A  dozen  kisses  so  were  stolen  by  the 
eager  gallants  before  my  lady  broke  away, 
stamping  her  foot  in  indignation,  as  she 
exclaimed: 

[  183  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"Nay,  I  am  very  angry,  very  — " 

"That  there  were  no  more,  wench!" 
laughed  Buckingham.  "Marry,  'tis  a 
merry  night  when  Portsmouth  reigns. 
Long  live  the  Duchess  in  the  King's 
heart!" 

"  So  you  may  capture  its  fairer  favour 
ite,  friend  Buckingham?"  suggested  the 
King,  softly;  and  there  was  no  hidden 
meaning  in  his  speech,  for  the  King  sus 
pected  that  Buckingham's  heart  as  well 
was  not  at  Portsmouth's  and  Bucking 
ham  knew  that  the  King  suspected  it. 

Buckingham  was  the  prince  of  court 
iers;  he  bowed  low  and,  saying  much 
without  saying  anything,  replied  respect 
fully: 

"  So  I  may  console  her,  Sire,  that  she 
is  out-beautied  by  France  to-night." 

"Out-beautied!  Not  bidden,  thou 
mean'st,"  exclaimed  the  King,  his 
thoughts  roving  toward  Nelly's  terrace. 
Ah,  how  he  longed  to  be  there!  "The 
room  is  close,"  he  fretted.  "Come,  gal 
lants,  to  the  promenade!" 

He  was  dressed  in  white  and  gold;  and 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

a  princely  prince  he  looked,  indeed,  as  the 
courtiers  separated  for  him  to  pass  out  be 
tween  them. 

All  followed  save  Buckingham,  whom 
Portsmouth's  eye  detained. 

She  broke  into  a  joyous  laugh  as  she 
turned  from  the  tapestry-curtains,through 
which  she  could  see  his  Majesty  —  the 
centre  of  a  mirthful  scene  without. 

"What  say  you  now,  my  lord?"  she 
asked,  triumphantly,  of  Buckingham.  "I 
am  half  avenged  already,  and  the  articles 
half  signed.  The  King  is  here  despite  his 
Madame  Gwyn,  and  in  a  playful  mood 
that  may  be  tuned  to  love." 

Buckingham's  ardour  did  not  kindle  as 
she  hoped. 

"Merriment  is  oft  but  Sadness's  mask, 
Louise,"  he  replied,  thoughtfully. 

"What  meanest  thou?"  she  asked,  in 
her  nervous,  Gallic  way,  and  as  quickly, 
her  mind  anticipating,  answered:  "This 
trifle  of  the  gossips  that  Charles  advances 
the  player's  whim  to  found  a  hospital  at 
Chelsea, for  broken-down  old  soldiers?  Ce 
nest  rien  !  " 

[  185  j 


Mistress  Nell 


She  broke  into  a  mocking  laugh. 

"Aye!"  replied  Buckingham,  quietly 
but  significantly.  "The  orders  are  issued 
for  its  building  and  the  people  are  cheer 
ing  Nell  throughout  the  realm." 

"Ma  foil"  came  from  the  Duchess's 
contemptuous  lips.  "And  what  say  the 
rabble  of  Portsmouth? " 

"That  she  is  Louis's  pensioner  sent 
here  from  France  —  a  spy!"  he  answered, 
quickly  and  forcefully  too.  "The  hawkers 
cry  it  in  the  streets." 

"Fools!  Fools!"  she  mused.  Then, 
making  sure  that  no  arras  had  ears,  she 
continued:  "Before  the  night  is  done, 
thou  shalt  hear  that  Luxembourg  has 
fallen  to  the  French  —  Mark!  —  Luxem 
bourg!  Feed  the  rabble  on  that,  my  lord. 
Heaven  preserve  King  Louis!" 

The  Duke  started  incredulously.  When 
had  Portsmouth  seen  the  King?  and  by 
what  arts  had  she  won  the  royal  consent? 
A  score  of  questions  trembled  on  his  lips 
—  and  yet  were  checked  before  the  utter 
ance.  Not  an  intimation  before  of  her  suc 
cess  had  reached  his  ear,  though  he  had 
[  '86  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

advised  with  the  Duchess  almost  daily 
since  their  accidental  meeting  below 
Nell's  terrace.  Indeed,  in  his  heart,  he 
had  never  believed  that  she  would  be 
able  so  to  dupe  the  King.  The  shadow 
from  the  axe  which  fell  upon  Charles  I. 
still  cast  its  warning  gloom  athwart  the 
walls  of  Whitehall;  and,  in  the  face  of 
the  temper  of  the  English  people  and 
of  well-known  treaties,  the  acquiescence 
of  Charles  II.  in  Louis's  project  would  be 
but  madness.  Luxembourg  was  the  key 
strategetically  to  the  Netherlands  and  the 
states  beyond.  Its  fall  meant  the  aug 
mentation  of  the  Empire  of  Louis,  the 
personal  ignominy  of  Charles! 

"  Luxembourg ! "  He  repeatedthe  word 

cautiously.  "King  Charles  did  not  con- 

•>•> 
sent  — 

"Nay,"  replied  the  Duchess,  in  her 
sweetest  way,  "but  I  knew  he  would; 
and  so  I  sent  the  message  in  advance." 

"Forgery!  'Twas  boldly  done,  Lou 
ise,"  cried  Buckingham,  in  tones  of  ad 
miration  mixed  with  fear. 

"  I  knew  my  power,  my  lord,"  she  said 


Mistress  Nell 


confidently;  and  her  eyes  glistened  with 
womanly  pride  as  she  added:  "The  con 
sent  will  come." 

Buckingham's  eyes  —  usually  so  frank 
— fell;  and,  for  some  seconds,  he  stood 
seemingly  lost  in  abstraction  over  the 
revelations  made  by  the  Duchess.  He  was, 
however,  playing  a  deeper  game  than  he 
appeared  to  play.  Apparently  in  thought 
lessness,  he  began  to  toy  with  a  ring  which 
hung  upon  a  ribbon  about  his  neck  and 
which  till  then  had  been  cautiously  con 
cealed. 

"Nay,  what  have  you  there?"  ques 
tioned  Portsmouth. 

Buckingham's  face  assumed  an  expres 
sion  of  surprise.  He  pretended  not  to  com 
prehend  the  import  of  her  words. 

She  pointed  to  the  ring. 

He  glanced  at  it  as  though  he  re 
gretted  it  had  been  seen,  then  added  care 
lessly,  apparently  to  appease  but  really  to 
whet  the  Duchess's  curiosity: 

"Merely  a  ring  the  King  gave  Nell." 

There  was  more  than  curiosity  now  in 
Portsmouth's  eyes. 

[  '88  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"I  borrowed  it  to  show  it  you,"  con 
tinued  Buckingham,  indifferently,  then 
asked,  with  tantalizing  calmness: "  Is  your 
mission  quite  complete? " 

With  difficulty,  the  Duchess  mastered 
herself.  Without  replying,  she  walked 
slowly  toward  the  table,  in  troubled 
thought.  The  mask  of  crime  revealed  it 
self  in  her  beautiful  features,  as  she  said, 
half  to  herself: 

"I  have  a  potion  I  brought  from 
France." 

She  was  of  the  Latin  race  and  poison 
was  a  heritage. 

Buckingham  caught  the  words  not 
meant  for  him,  and  realized  too  well 
their  sinister  meaning.  Poison  Nell!  His 
eyes  swept  the  room  fearfully  and  he 
shuddered.  He  hastened  to  Portsmouth's 
side,  and  in  cold  whispers  importuned 
her: 

"For  Heaven's  mercy,  woman,  as  you 
love  yourself  and  me  —  poison  is  an  un 
healthy  diet  to  administer  in  England." 

The  Duchess  turned  upon  him  impa 
tiently.  The  black  lines  faded  slowly  from 

[  '89  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


her  face;  but  they  still  were  there,  be 
neath  the  beauty-lines. 

"My  servants  have  watched  her  house 
without  avail,"  she  sneered.  "Your  plan 
is  useless;  my  plan  will  work." 

"Stay!"  pleaded  Buckingham,  still 
fearful.  "We  can  ourselves  entice  some 
adventurous  spirit  up  Nell's  terrace,  then 
trap  him.  So  our  end  is  reached." 

"Aye,"  replied  the  Duchess,  in  milder 
mood,  realizing  that  she  had  been  over- 
hasty  at  least  in  speech,  "the  minx  pre 
sumes  to  love  the  King,  and  so  is  hon 
est!  But  of  her  later.  The  treaties!  He 
shall  sign  to-night — to-night,  I  say." 

With  a  triumphant  air,  she  pointed 
to  the  quills  and  sand  upon  a  table  in 
readiness  for  his  signing. 

Buckingham  smiled  approvingly;  and 
in  his  smile  lurked  flattery  so  adroit  that 
it  pleased  the  Duchess  despite  herself. 

"  Lord  Hyde,  St.  Albans  and  the  rest," 
said  he,  "are  here  to  aid  the  cause." 

"Bah!"  answered  Portsmouth,  with 
a  shrug.  "In  the  field,  men;  at  court, 
women!  This  girl  has  outwitted  you  all. 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

I  must  accomplish  my  mission  alone. 
Charles  must  be  Louis's  pensioner  in 
full;  England  the  slave  of  France!  My 
fortune  —  Le  Grand  Roi's  regard  —  hang 
upon  it." 

Buckingham  cautioned  her  with  a 
startled  gesture. 

"Nay,"  smiled  Portsmouth,  compla 
cently,  "I  may  speak  frankly,  my  lord; 
for  your  head  is  on  the  same  block  still 
with  mine." 

"And  my  heart,  Louise,"  he  said,  in  ad 
miration.  "Back  to  the  King!  Do  noth 
ing  rash.  We  will  banish  thy  rival,  dear 
hostess." 

He  did  not  add,  save  in  thought,  that 
Nell's  banishment,  if  left  to  him,  would 
be  to  his  own  country  estate. 

There  was  almost  a  touch  of  affeclion 
in  the  Duchess's  voice  as  she  prepared  to 
join  the  King. 

"  Leave  all  to  me,  my  lord,"  she  said, 
then  courtesied  low. 

"Yea,  all  but  Nell!"  reflected  his  lord 
ship,  as  he  watched  her  depart.  "With 
this  ring,  I'll  keep  thee  wedded  to  jeal- 


Mistress  Nell 


ous  interest,  and  so  enrich  my  purse  and 
power.  Thou  art  a  great  woman,  fair 
France;  I  half  love  thee  myself.  But 
thou  knowest  only  a  moiety  of  my  pur 
pose.  The  other  half  is  Nell!" 

He  stood  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts. 

The  draperies  at  the  further  door-way, 
on  which  was  worked  in  Gobelin  tapes 
try  a  forest  with  its  grand,  imposing  oaks, 
were  pushed  nervously  aside.  Jack  Hart 
entered,  mask  in  hand,  and  scanned  the 
room  with  skeptic  eye. 

"A  happy  meeting,"  mused  Bucking 
ham,  reflecting  upon  Hart's  one-time 
ardour  for  Mistress  Nell  and  upon  the 
possibility  that  that  ardour,  if  directed  by 
himself,  might  yet  compromise  Nell  in 
the  King's  eyes  and  lead  to  the  realiza 
tion  of  his  own  fond  dreams  of  greater 
wealth  and  power  and,  still  more  sweet, 
to  the  possession  of  his  choice  among  all 
the  beauties  of  the  realm. 

"It  is  a  sad  hour,"  thought  Hart, 
glancing  at  the  merry  dancers  through 
the  arch,  "when  all  the  world,  like  play 
ers,  wear  masks." 

[   192  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Buckingham  assumed  an  air  of  bon 
homie. 

"Whither  away,  Master  Hart?"  he 
called  after  the  player,  who  started  per 
ceptibly  at  his  voice.  "Let  not  thy  fancy 
play  truant  to  this  gay  assemblage,  to 
mope  in  St.  James's  Park." 

"My  lord!"  exclaimed  Hart,  hotly. 
The  fire,  however,  was  gone  in  an  in 
stant;  and  he  added,  evidently  under 
strong  constraint:  "Pardon;  but  we  pre 
fer  to  change  the  subjecl." 

"The  drift's  the  same,"  chuckled  the 
shrewd  Buckingham;  "we  may  turn  it 
to  advantage."  He  approached  the  player 
in  a  friendly  manner.  "  Be  not  angry,"  he 
exclaimed  soothingly;  "for  there's  a  rift 
even  in  the  clouds  of  love.  Brighter,  man; 
for  King  Charles  was  seeking  your  wits 
but  now." 

"He'd  have  me  play  court-fool  for 
him?"  asked  the  melancholy  mime,  who 
had  in  his  nature  somewhat  of  the  cyni 
cism  of  Jaques,  without  his  grand  imag 
inings  of  soul.  "There  are  many  off"  the 
stage,  my  lord,  in  better  practice." 

[    193   1 


Mistress  Nell 


"True,  most  true,"  acquiesced  Buck 
ingham;  "I  could  point  them  out." 

He  would  have  continued  in  this  vein 
but  beyond  the  door,  whence  Hart  had 
just  appeared,  leading  by  a  stair-way  of 
cupids  to  the  entrance  to  the  palace,  arose 
the  sound  of  many  voices  in  noisy  alter 
cation. 

"Hark  ye,  hark!"  he  exclaimed,  in  an 
alarmed  tone.  "What  is't?  Confusion  in 
the  great  hall-way  below.  We  '11  see  to 't." 

He  had  assumed  a  certain  supervision 
of  the  palace  for  the  night.  With  the 
player  as  a  body-guard,  he  accordingly 
made  a  hasty  exit. 


CHAPTER     XII 


Beau  Adair  is  my  name. 


A  HE  room  was  not  long  vacant.  The 
hostess  herself  returned.  She  was  radiant. 

As  she  crossed  the  threshold,  she 
glanced  back  proudly  at  the  revellers, 
who,  led  by  his  Majesty,  were  turning 
night  into  day  with  their  merry-making. 
She  had  the  right,  indeed,  to  be  proud; 
for  the  evening,  though  scarce  half  spent, 
bespoke  a  complete  triumph  for  her  en 
tertainment.  This  was  the  more  gratify 
ing  too,  in  that  she  knew  that  there  were 
many  at  court  who  did  not  wish  the  "  im 
ported  "  Duchess,  as  they  called  her,  or  her 
function  well,  though  they  always  smiled 
sweetly  at  each  meeting  and  at  each  part 
ing  and  deigned  now  to  feast  beyond  the 
limit  of  gentility  upon  her  rich  wines  and 
collations. 

The  bal  masque,  however,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  with  the  Duchess  but  a  means 

[  -95  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


to  an  end.  She  took  from  the  hand  of  a 
pretty  page  the  treaties,  lately  re-drawn 
by  Bouillon,  and  glanced  hastily  over  the 
parchments  to  see  that  her  instructions 
from  Louis  were  covered  by  their  words. 
A  smile  played  on  her  arching  lips  as  she 
read  and  re-read  and  realized  how  near 
she  was  to  victory. 

"Tis  Portsmouth's  night  to-night!" 
she  mused.  "  My  great  mission  to  Eng 
land  is  nearly  ended.  Dear  France,  I  feel 
that  I  was  born  for  thy  advancement." 

She  seated  herself  by  the  table,  where 
the  materials  for  writing  had  been  placed, 
and  further  dwelt  upon  the  outcome  of 
the  royal  agreements,  their  contingencies 
and  triumphs.  She  could  write  Charles 
Rex  almost  as  well  as  the  King,  she 
thought,  as  her  eye  caught  the  places  left 
for  his  signature. 

"  Bouillon  never  fails  me,"  she  mut 
tered.  "Drawn  by  King  Charles's  con 
sent,  except  perchance  some  trifling  ar 
ticles  which  I  have  had  interlined  for 
Louis's  sake.  We  need  not  speak  of  them. 
It  would  be  troublesome  to  Charles.  A 

[  196  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

little  name  and  seal  will  make  these  pa 
pers  history." 

Her  reflexions  were  interrupted  by  the 
return  of  Buckingham,  who  was  laugh 
ing  so  that  he  could  scarcely  speak. 

"What  is  't?"  she  asked,  petulantly. 

"The  guard  have  stayed  but  now  a 
gallant,  Irish  youth,"  replied  he,  as  best 
he  could  for  laughter,  "who  swore  that 
he  had  letters  to  your  highness.  Oh,  he 
swore,  indeed;  then  pleaded;  then  threat 
ened  that  he  would  fight  them  all  with 
single  hand.  Of  course,  he  won  the  ladies' 
hearts,  as  they  entered  the  great  hall,  by 
his  boyish  swagger;  but  not  the  guards. 
Your  orders  were  imperative — that  none 
unbidden  to  the  ball  could  enter." 

"  'T  is  well,"  cried  Portsmouth. "  None, 
none!  Letters  to  me!  Did  he  say  from 
whom?" 

"He  said,"  continued  Buckingham, 
still  laughing,  "that  he  was  under  orders 
of  his  master  to  place  them  only  in  the 
Duchess's  hands.  Oh,  he  is  a  very  lordly 
youth." 

The   Duke   throughout   made   a   sad 

[   '97  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


attempt  at  amusing  imitations  of  the 
brogue  of  the  strange,  youthful,  Irish 
visitor  who,  with  so  much  importunity, 
sought  a  hearing. 

Portsmouth  reflected  a  moment  and 
then  said:  "  I  will  see  him,  Buckingham, 
but  briefly." 

Buckingham,  not  a  little  surprised, 
bowed  and  departed  graciously  to  con 
vey  the  bidding. 

The  Duchess  lost  herself  again  in 
thought.  "His  message  may  have  im 
port,"  she  reflected.  "Louis  sends  strange 
messengers  ofttimes." 

In  the  midst  of  her  reverie,  the  tapestry 
at  the  door  was  again  pushed  back,  cau 
tiously  this  time,  then  eagerly.  There  en 
tered  the  prettiest  spark  that  ever  graced 
a  kingdom  or  trod  a  measure. 

It  was  Nell,  accoutred  as  a  youth;  and 
a  bold  play  truly  she  was  making.  Her 
face  revealed  that  she  herself  was  none 
too  sure  of  the  outcome. 

"By  my  troth,"  she  thought,  as  she 
glanced  uncomfortably  about  the  great 
room,  "  I  feel  as  though  I  were  all 

[  198  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

breeches."  She  shivered.  "  It  is  such  a  lit 
tle  way  through  these  braveries  to  me." 

Her  eyes  turned  involuntarily  to  the 
corner  where  Portsmouth  sat,  now  dream 
ing  of  far-off  France. 

"The  Duchess!"  her  lips  breathed,  al 
most  aloud,  in  her  excitement.  "  So  you  'd 
play  hostess  to  his  Majesty,"  she  thought, 
"give  a  royal  ball  and  leave  poor  Nelly 
home,  would  you?" 

The  Duchess  was  conscious  only  of  a 
presence. 

"Garpon!"  she  called,  without  look 
ing  up.  ^ 

Nell  jumped  a  foot. 

"That  shook  me  to  the  boots,"  she 
ejaculated,  softly. 

"Garpon!"  again  called  the  impatient 
Duchess. 

"Madame,"  answered  Nell,  fearfully, 
the  words  seeming  to  stick  in  her  fair 
throat,  as  she  hastily  removed  her  hat  and 
bethought  her  that  she  must  have  a  care 
or  she  would  lose  her  head  as  well,  by 
forgetting  that  she  was  an  Irishman  with 
a  brogue. 

[    199  1 


Mistress  Nell 


"Who  are  you?"  asked  Portsmouth, 
haughtily,  as,  rising,  with  surprised  eyes, 
she  became  aware  of  the  presence  of  a 
stranger. 

Indeed,  it  is  not  strange  that  she  was 
surprised.  The  youth  who  stood  before 
her  was  dressed  from  top  to  toe  in  gray — 
the  silver-gray  which  lends  a  colour  to  the 
cheek  and  piquancy  to  the  form.  The  dress 
was  of  the  latest  cut.  The  hat  had  the 
longest  plume.  The  cloak  hung  gracefully 
save  where  the  glistening  sword  broke  its 
falling  lines.  The  boots  were  neat,  well 
rounded  and  well  cut,  encasing  a  jaunty 
leg.  The  dress  was  edged  with  silver. 

Ah,  the  strange  youth  was  a  love,  in 
deed,  with  his  bright,  sparkling  eyes,  his 
lips  radiant  with  smiles,  his  curls  falling 
to  his  shoulders. 

"  Well,"  stammered  Nell,  in  awkward 
hesitation  but  in  the  richest  brogue,  as  the 
Duchess  repeated  her  inquiry,  "  I  'm  just 
I,  madame." 

The  Duchess  smiled  despite  herself. 

"You're  just  you,"  she  said.  "That's 
very  clear." 

[  200  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"Yes,  that's  very  clear,"  reiterated 
Nell,  still  fearful  of  her  ground. 

"A  modest  masker,  possibly,"  sug 
gested  Portsmouth,  observing  the  youth's 
embarrassment  and  wishing  to  assist  him. 

"Yea,  very  modest,"  replied  Nell,  her 
speech  still  stumbling, "  almost  ashamed." 

Portsmouth's  eyes  looked  sharply  at 
her. 

"  She  suspecls  me,"  thought  Nell,  and 
her  heart  leaped  into  her  throat.  "  I  am 
lost  —  boots  and  all." 

"  Your  name? "  demanded  the  Duchess 
again,  impatiently. 

For  the  life  of  her  Nell  could  not  think 
of  it. 

"  You  see,"  she  replied  evasively, "  I  'm 
in  London  for  the  first  time  in  my  present 
self,  madame,  and  —  " 

"Your  name  and  mission,  sir?"  The 
tone  was  imperative. 

Nell's  wits  returned  to  her. 

"Beau  Adair  is  my  name,"  she  stam 
mered,  "and  your  service  my  mission." 

It  was  out,  though  it  had  like  to  have 
choked  her,  and  Nell  was  more  herself 

201 


Mistress  Nell 


again.  The  worst  she  had  feared  was  that 
the  Duchess  might  discover  her  identity 
and  so  turn  the  tables  and  make  her  the 
laughing-stock  at  court.  She  grew,  in 
deed,  quite  hopeful  as  she  observed  a 
kindly  smile  play  upon  the  Duchess's  lips 
and  caught  the  observation :  "  Beau  Adair ! 
A  pretty  name,  and  quite  a  pretty  fellow." 

A  smile  of  self-satisfaftion  and  a  low 
bow  were  Nell's  reply. 

"Vain  coxcomb!"  cried  Portsmouth, 
reprovingly,  though  she  was  highly 
amused  and  even  pleased  with  the  strange 
youth's  conceit. 

"Nay;  if  I  admire  not  myself,"  wist 
fully  suggested  Nell,  in  reply,  with  pre 
tence  of  much  modesty,  "who  will  praise 
poor  me  in  this  great  palace? " 

"You  are  new  at  court?"  asked  Ports 
mouth,  doubtingly. 

"Quite  new,"  asserted  Nell,  gaining 
confidence  with  each  speech.  "  My  Lon 
don  tailor  made  a  man  of  me  only  to-day." 

"A  man  of  you  only  to-day!"  cried 
the  Duchess,  in  wonderment. 

"He  assured  me,  madame,"  Nell  hast- 
[  202  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

ened  to  explain,  "that  the  fashion  makes 
the  man.  He  did  not  like  my  former  fash 
ion.  It  hid  too  much  that  was  good,  he 
said.  I  am  the  bearer  of  this  letter  to  the 
great  Duchess  of  Portsmouth;  that  you 
are  she,  I  know  by  your  royalty." 

She  bowed  with  a  jaunty,  boyish  bow, 
sweeping  the  floor  with  her  plumed  hat, 
as  she  offered  the  letter. 

"Oh,  you  are  the  gentleman,"  said 
Portsmouth,  recalling  her  request  to 
Buckingham,  which  for  the  instant  had 
quite  escaped  her.  She  took  the  letter  and 
broke  the  seal  eagerly. 

"She  does  not  suspecl:,"  thought  Nell; 
and  she  crossed  quickly  to  the  cur 
tained  arch,  leading  to  the  music  and  the 
dancing,  in  the  hope  that  she  might  see 
the  King. 

Portsmouth,  who  was  absorbed  in  the 
letter,  did  not  observe  her. 

"  From  Rochet !  Dear  Rochet ! "  mused 
the  Duchess,  as  she  read  aloud  the  lines: 
"'The  bearer  of  this  letter  is  a  young 
gallant,  very  modest  and  very  little  versed 
in  the  sins  of  court." 

[   2°3   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"Very  little,"  muttered  Nell,  with  a 
mischievous  wink,  still  intent  upon  the 
whereabouts  and  doings  of  the  King. 

" '  He  is  of  excellent  birth,' "  continued 
the  Duchess,  reading, " '  brave,  young  and 
to  be  trusted — to  be  trusted.  I  commend 
him  to  your  kindness,  protection  and  ser 
vice,  during  his  stay  in  town." 

She  reflected  a  moment  intently  upon 
the  letter,  then  looked  up  quickly.  Nell 
returned,  somewhat  confused,  to  her  side. 

"This  is  a  very  strong  letter,  sir,"  said 
Portsmouth,  with  an  inquiring  look. 

"Yes,  very  strong,"  promptly  acqui 
esced  Nell;  and  she  chuckled  as  she 
recalled  that  she  had  written  it  herself, 
taking  near  a  fortnight  in  the  composi 
tion.  Her  fingers  ached  at  the  memory. 

"Where  did  you  leave  Rochet?"  in 
quired  the  Duchess,  almost  incredulously. 

"Leave  Rochet?"  thought  Nell, 
aghast.  "  I  knew  she  would  ask  me  some 
thing  like  that." 

There  was  a  moment's  awkwardness  — 
Nell  was  on  difficult  ground.  She  feared 
lest  she  might  make  a  misstep  which 

[  2°4  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

would  reveal  her  identity.  The  Duchess 
grew  impatient.  Finally,  Nell  mustered 
courage  and  made  a  bold  play  for  it,  as 
ever  true  to  her  brogue. 

"  Where  did  I  leave  Rochet? "  she  said, 
as  if  she  had  but  then  realized  the  Duch 
ess's  meaning,  then  boldly  answered:  "In 
Cork." 

"  In  Cork ! "  cried  Portsmouth,  in  blank 
surprise.  "  I  thought  his  mission  took  him 
to  Dublin."  She  eyed  the  youth  closely 
and  wondered  if  he  really  knew  the  mis 
sion. 

"Nay;  Cork!"  firmly  repeated  Nell; 
for  she  dared  not  retracl,  lest  she  awaken 
suspicion.  "I  am  quite  sure  it  was  Cork 
I  left  him  in." 

"  Quite  sure? "  exclaimed  the  Duchess, 
her  astonishment  increasing  with  each 
confused  reply. 

"Well,  you  see,  Duchess,"  said  Nell, 
"we  had  an  adventure.  It  was  dark;  and 
we  were  more  solicitous  to  know  whither 
the  way  than  whence." 

The  Duchess  broke  into  a  merry  laugh. 
The  youth  had  captured  her,  with  his 

[   2°5   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


wistful,  Irish  eyes,  his  brogue  and  his 
roguish  ways. 

"  We  give  a  ball  to-night,"  she  said, 
gaily.  "You  shall  stay  and  see  the  King." 

"The  King!"  cried  Nell,  feigning 
fright.  "I  should  tremble  so  to  see  the 
King." 

"You  need  not  fear,"  laughed  the  host 
ess.  "He  will  not  know  you." 

"  I  trust  not,  truly,"  sighed  Nell,  with 
much  meaning,  as  she  scanned  her  scanty 
masculine  attire. 

"Take  my  mask,"  said  the  Duchess, 
graciously. "  As  hostess,  I  cannot  wear  it." 

Nell  seized  it  eagerly.  She  would  be 
safe  with  this  little  band  of  black  across 
her  eyes.  Even  the  King  would  not  know 
her. 

"I  shall  feel  more  comfortable  behind 
this,"  she  said,  naively. 

"  Did  you  ever  mask? "  inquired  Ports 
mouth,  gaily. 

"Nay,  I  am  too  honest  to  deceive," 
answered  Nell;  and  her  eyes  grew  so 
round  and  so  big,  who  would  not  be 
lieve  her? 

[  206  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"But  you  are  at  court  now,"  laughed 
the  Duchess,  patronizingly.  "Masking  is 
the  first  sin  at  court." 

"Then  I'll  begin  with  the  first  sin," 
said  Nell,  slyly,  raising  the  Duchess's  fin 
gers  to  her  lips,  "and  run  the  gamut." 

They  passed  together  into  the  great 
ball-room,  Nell  exercising  all  her  arts  of 
fascination  —  and  they  were  many.  The 
music  ceased  as  they  entered.  The  dancers, 
and  more  especially  the  ladies,  eyed  curi 
ously  the  jaunty  figure  of  the  new-comer. 
There  were  merry  whisperings  among 
them. 

"  Who  can  he  be? "  asked  one,  eagerly. 
"What  a  pretty  fellow!"  exclaimed  a 
second,  in  admiration.  "I've  been  eying 
him,"  said  a  third,  complacently. 

The  men  too  caught  the  infeclion. 

"  Who  can  he  be? "  inquired  Rochester. 

"  Marry,  I  '11  find  out,"  said  Lady  Ham 
ilton,  with  an  air  of  confidence,  having 
recovered  by  this  time  from  the  kisses 
which  had  been  thrust  upon  her  and  be 
ing  now  ready  for  a  new  flirtation. 

She  approached  Adair,  artfully,  and 
[  207  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


inquired:  "Who  art  thou,  my  butterfly? 
Tell  me  now,  e'er  I  die."  Her  attitude  was 
a  credit  to  the  extremes  of  euphuism. 

There  was  general  laughter  at  her  pre 
sumptuous  and  effete  pose  and  phrase. 

The  ladies  had  gathered  about  the  new 
hero,  like  bees  about  new  clover.  The 
gallants  stood,  or  sat  as  wall-flowers  in  a 
row,  deserted.  The  King  too  had  been 
abandoned  for  the  lion  of  the  hour  and 
sat  disconsolate. 

"Peace,  jealous  ones!"  cried  Lady 
Hamilton,  reprovingly,  then  continued, 
with  a  winning  way:  "I  know  thou  art 
Apollo  himself,  good  sir." 

Nell  smiled  complacently,  though  she 
felt  her  mask,  to  assure  herself  that  it  was 
firm. 

"Apollo,  truly,"  she  said, jauntily,  "if 
thou  art  his  lyre,  sweet  lady." 

Lady  Hamilton  turned  to  the  Duchess. 

"Oh,  your  grace,"  she  asked,  lan- 
guishingly,  "  tell  us  in  a  breath,  tell  us, 
who  is  this  dainty  beau  of  the  ball?" 

"How  am  I  to  know  my  guests,"  an 
swered  Portsmouth,  feigning  innocence, 

2o8 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"with  their  vizors  down?  Nay,  sweet  sir, 
unmask  and  please  the  ladies.  F faith,  who 
art  thou?" 

The  hostess  was  delighted.  The  popu 
larity  of  the  new-comer  was  lending  a 
unique  novelty  to  her  entertainment.  She 
was  well  pleased  that  she  had  detained 
Monsieur  Adair.  She  thought  she  saw  a 
jealous  look  in  the  King's  usually  care 
lessly  indifferent  gaze  when  she  encour 
aged  the  affectionate  glances  of  the  Irish 
youth. 

"  F  faith,"  laughed  Nell,  in  reply,  "  I 
know  not,  Duchess." 

"D'ye  hear?"  said  Portsmouth.  "He 
knows  not  himself." 

"But  I  have  a  suspicion,  Duchess," 
sighed  Nell. 

"  Hark  ye, "laughed  Portsmouth,  with 
a  very  pretty  pout,  "he  has  a  suspicion, 
ladies." 

"Nay,  you  will  tell?"  protested  Nell, 
as  the  ladies  gathered  closer  about  her 
in  eager  expectation. 

There  was  a  unison  of  voices  to  the 
contrary. 

[   209  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"  Trust  us,  fair  sir,"  said  one.  "  Oh,  we 
are  good  at  keeping  secrets." 

"Then,  'twixt  you  and  me,  I  am  — " 
began  Nell;  and  she  hesitated,  teasingly. 

The  group  about  grew  more  eager, 
more  wild  with  curiosity. 

"  Yes,  yes  —  "  they  exclaimed  together. 

"I  am,"  said  Nell,  "the  Pied  Piper 
of  Hamlin  Town." 

"The  rat-catcher,"  cried  Portsmouth. 
"Oh,  oh,  oh!" 

There  was  a  lifting  of  skirts,  revealing 
many  high-born  insteps,  and  a  scramble 
for  chairs,  as  the  ladies  reflected  upon 
the  long  lines  of  rats  in  the  train  of  the 
mesmeric  Pied  Piper. 

"Flee,  flee!"  screamed  Lady  Hamil 
ton,  playfully.  "  He  may  pipe  us  into  the 
mountains  after  the  children." 

"You  fill  me  with  laughter,  ladies," 
said  Portsmouth  to  her  guests.  "The  man 
does  not  live  who  can  entrap  me." 

"The  woman  does,"  thought  Nell,  as, 
mock-heroically,  she  placed  near  her  lips 
a  reed-pipe  which  she  had  snatched  from 
a  musician  in  the  midst  of  the  fun;  and, 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

whistling  a  merry  tune  which  the  pipe 
took  no  part  in,  she  circled  about  the 
room,  making  quite  a  wizard's  exit. 

The  ladies,  heart  and  soul  in  the  fun, 
fell  into  line  and  followed,  as  if  spell-bound 
by  the  magic  of  the  Piper. 

Charles,  James,  Rochester  and  the  gal 
lants,  who  remained,  each  of  whom  had 
been  in  turn  deserted  by  his  fair  lady, 
unmasked  and  looked  at  one  another  in 
wonderment.  Of  one  accord,  they  burst 
into  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"Sublime  audacity,"  exclaimed 
Charles.  "Who  is  this  curled  darling — 
this  ball-room  Adonis?  Ods-pitikins,  we 
are  in  the  sear  and  yellow  leaf." 

"Truly,  Sire,"  said  James,  dryly,  "I 
myself  prefer  a  gathering  of  men  only." 

"Brother  James,"  forthwith  impor 
tuned  the  King,  waggishly,  "will  you  fa 
vour  me  with  your  lily-white  hand  for  the 
next  dance?  I  am  driven  to  extremity." 

"Pardon,  Sire,"  replied  James,  quite 
humorously  for  him,  "  I  am  engaged  to 
a  handsomer  man." 

"Odsfish,"   laughed   Charles,   "King 


Mistress  Nell 


Charles  of  England  a  wall-flower.  Come, 
Rochester,  my  epitaph." 

The  King  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  in 
an  attitude  of  hopeless  resignation,  quite 
delicious. 

Rochester  perked  up  with  the  conceit 
and  humour  of  the  situation.  With  the 
utmost  dignity,  and  with  the  quizzical, 
pinched  brow  of  the  labouring  muse,  halt 
ing  at  each  line,  he  said: 

"  Here  lies  our  sovereign  lord,  the  King, 

Whose  word  no  man  relies  on; 
Who  never  said  a  foolish  thing, 
And  never  did  a  wise  one ! " 

The  post-mortem  verse  was  sufficiently 
subtle  and  clever  to  revive  the  King's 
drooping  spirits;  and  he  joined  heartily 
in  the  applause. 

"The  matter,"  he  said,  approvingly, 
"is  easily  accounted  for  —  my  discourse  is 
my  own,  my  actions  are  my  Ministry's." 

There  was  a  frou-frou  of  petticoats. 
The  hostess  entered  gaily. 

"The  King!  The  courtiers!  Un 
masked!"  she  exclaimed,  in  coy  reproof. 

2I2 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"Fy,  fy,  your  Majesty!  For  shame!  Gal 
lants!  Are  you  children  that  I  must  pair 
you  off?"  ' 

"We  are  seeking  consolation,"  sug 
gested  Charles,  dryly;  "for  modest  souls 
have  small  chance  to-night,  Louise." 

He  nodded  significantly  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  great  ball-room,  where  the 
chatter  of  women's  voices  betokened  the 
unrivalled  popularity  of  Nell. 

"When  did  you  turn  modest,  Sire?" 
slyly  inquired  Portsmouth,  with  a  look 
of  love. 

"When  I  was  out-stripped  in  audacity 
by  yon  Hibernian  youth,"  replied  the 
King,  seriously.  "Who  is  this  peacock 
you  are  introducing?" 

A  peal  of  laughter  from  without  punct 
uated  the  King's  speech.  It  was  the  re 
ward  of  a  wit-thrust  from  Nell. 

"The  Piper  the  maids  would  now  un 
mask?  "  queried  Portsmouth,  rapturously. 
"Marry,  'tis  the  fascinating  Beau  Adair 
of  Cork,  entertaining  the  ladies.  Oh,  he 
is  a  love,  Sire;  he  does  not  sulk  in  corners. 
See!  See!" 

[  213   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


She  pointed  toward  the  archway, 
through  which  Nell  was  plainly  visible. 
She  was  strutting  jauntily  back  and  forth 
upon  the  promenade.  It  is  unnecessary  to 
say  that  she  was  escorted  by  the  assembled 
fair  ones. 

As  Nell  caught  the  eye  of  the  hostess 
in  the  distance,  she  gaily  tossed  a  kiss  to 
her. 

"  'Sdeath,  that  I  were  a  woman  to  hope 
for  one  of  his  languishing  smiles,"  ob 
served  Buckingham. 

"Even  the  old  hens  run  at  his  call," 
sneered  the  pious  James,  in  discontent; 
for  he  too  had  been  deserted  by  his  lady 
love  and  even  before  the  others. 

The  King  looked  at  his  brother  with 
an  air  of  bantering  seriousness,  to  the  de 
light  of  all  assembled. 

"Brother  James  is  jealous  of  the  old 
ones  only,"  he  observed.  "  You  know  his 
favourites  are  given  him  by  his  priests  for 
penance." 

A  merry  ripple  ran  through  the  group. 

The  hostess  took  advantage  of  the 
King's  speech  to  make  a  point. 

[  'Hi 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"And  you  are  jealous  of  the  young 
ones  only,"  she  said,  slyly,  quickly  adding 
as  a  bid  for  jealousy:  "Pooh,  pooh!  Le 
Beau  had  letters  to  me,  Sire.  Nay,  we  do 
not  love  him  very  much.  We  have  not 
as  yet  had  time." 

"Alas,  alas,"  sighed  Charles,  with 
drooping  countenance,  "that  it  should 
come  to  this." 

"My  liege,  I  protest  — "  cried  Ports 
mouth,  hastily,  fearful  lest  she  might  have 
gone  too  far.  "To-night  is  the  first  I  ever 
saw  the  youth.  I  adore  you,  Sire." 

"Not  a  word!"  commanded  Charles, 
with  mock-heroic  mien.  He  waved  his 
hand  imperatively  to  his  followers. 
"Friends,"  he  continued,  "we  will  mix 
masks  and  dominoes  and  to't  again  to 
drown  our  sorrow." 

"In  the  Thames?"  inquired  James, 
facetiously  for  him. 

"Tush!  In  the  punch-bowl,  pious 
brother! "  protested  the  Merry  Monarch, 
with  great  dignity.  "You  know,  a  very 
little  water  will  drown  even  a  king." 

The  gallants  mixed  masks  and  domi- 

[  215  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


noes  in  obedience  to  the  royal  wish.  The 
King,  sighing  deeply,  cast  a  hopeless 
glance  at  Portsmouth,  not  without  its 
tinge  of  humour.  He  then  sauntered 
slowly  toward  the  windows  of  the  great 
ball-room,  followed  subserviently  by  all 
the  courtiers,  save  Buckingham,  who  was 
lost  in  converse  with  player  Hart. 

"Hark  ye,"  suddenly  broke  off  Buck 
ingham,  observing  the  approach  of  Adair 
and  his  adorers,  "here  come  again  the 
merry  maskers.  By  Bacchus,  the  li  ttle  ban 
tam  still  reigns  supreme.  The  King  and 
his  gallants  in  tears.  Let  us  join  the  mourn 
ers,  Master  Hart." 

As  the  Duke  and  the  player,  the  former 
assuming  a  fraternal  air  for  an  end  of  his 
own,  joined  the  royal  group,  Nell  re-en 
tered  gaily,  every  inch  the  man.  She  was 
still  surrounded  by  the  ladies,  who,  flut 
tering,  flattering  and  chattering,  hung 
upon  her  every  word.  With  one  hand  she 
toyed  with  her  mask,  which  she  had  good- 
naturedly  dropped  as  none  were  about 
who  knew  her.  She  clapped  it,  however, 
quickly  to  her  eyes  at  sight  of  the  King. 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"You  overwhelm  me,  my  fair  ones," 
she  said,  with  spirit,  as  she  held  court  in 
the  centre  of  the  room.  "I  assure  you,  I 
am  not  used  to  such  attention — from  the 
ladies." 

"Our  hospitality  is  beggarly  to  your 
deserts,"  sighed  Portsmouth,  who  had 
joined  the  bevy,  but  loud  enough  for  the 
King  to  hear. 

"You  quite  o'erpower  me,  Duchess," 
answered  Nell,  modestly,  adding  for  the 
satisfaction  of  her  own  sense  of  humour: 
"No  wonder  we  men  are  fools,  if  you 
women  talk  like  this." 

While  she  was  speaking,  Lady  Ham 
ilton  whispered  facetiously  in  Ports 
mouth's  ear. 

"  Beau  Adair  married! "  exclaimed  the 
Duchess,  in  response.  "It  cannot  be.  He 
looks  too  gay  for  a  married  man." 

"No  confidences,  my  pretty  ones," 
observed  Nell,  reprovingly. 

The  hostess  hesitated ;  then  she  out  with 
it  in  a  merry  strain. 

"Lady  Hamilton  asks  after  the  wife 
you  left  at  home." 

[   217  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"My  wife!"  cried  Nell,  in  astonish 
ment;  for  this  phase  of  her  masquerading 
had  not  presented  itself  to  her  before. 
"Great  Heavens,  I  have  no  wife  —  I  as 
sure  you,  ladies!" 

"  So? "  observed  Portsmouth,  her  curi 
osity  awakened.  "Modest  —  for  a  bache 
lor." 

"A  bachelor!"  exclaimed  Nell,  now 
fully  en  rapport  with  the  spirit  of  the  situ 
ation.  "Well, — not  exactly  a  bachelor 
either,  —  ladies." 

"  Alack-a-day,"  sighed  Lady  Hamil 
ton,  with  a  knowing  glance  at  her  com 
panions,  "neither  a  bachelor  nor  a  mar 
ried  man!" 

"Well,  you  see  — "  explained  Nell, 
adroitly,  "that  might  seem  a  trifle 
queer,  but  —  I'm  in  mourning  —  deeply 
in  mourning,  ladies." 

She  drew  a  kerchief  from  her  dress 
and  feigned  bitter  tears. 

"A  widower!"  tittered  Lady  Hamil 
ton,  heartlessly.  "Our  united  congratu 
lations,  sir." 

The  other  ladies  one  by  one  sobbed 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

with  affecled  sympathy,  wiping  their  eyes 
tenderly,  however,  lest  they  might  re 
move  the  rich  colour  from  their  cheeks. 

"  Mesdames,"  said  Nell,  reprovingly, 
"  the  memory  is  sacred.  Believe  me,  very 
sacred." 

She  fell  apparently  once  again  to  weep 
ing  bitterly. 

"The  memory  is  always  sacred — with 
men,"  observed  Portsmouth,  for  the  bene 
fit  of  her  guests,  not  excepting  the  Irish 
youth.  "  Nay,  tell  us  the  name  of  the  fair 
one  who  left  you  so  young.  My  heart 
goes  out  to  you,  dear  Beau." 

"  Kind  hostess,"  replied  Nell,  assum 
ing  her  tenderest  tones,  "the  name  of 
my  departed  self  is  —  Nell!" 

Hart  caught  the  word.  The  player 
was  standing  near,  reflecting  on  the  scene 
and  on  the  honeyed  words  of  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham,  who  was  preparing  the 
way  that  he  might  use  him. 

"Nell!"  he  muttered.  "Who  spoke 
that  name?" 

The  hostess  too  was  startled. 

"  Nell ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  contend- 

[  2I9  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


ing  emotions.  "Strange!  Another  cava 
lier  who  graces  mon  bal  masque  to-night 
has  lost  a  loved  one  whose  name  is  Nell. 
Ah,  but  she  was  unworthy  of  his  noble 
love." 

She  spoke  pointedly  at  the  masked 
King,  who  started  perceptibly. 

"Yes,"  he  thought;  for  his  conscience 
smote  him,  "unworthy  —  he  of  her." 

"  Unworthy,  truly,  if  he  dances  so  soon 
and  his  own  Nell  dead,"  added  Nell,  re 
flectively,  but  so  that  all  might  hear, 
more  especially  Charles. 

"Perchance  Nell  too  thinks  so," 
thought  he,  as  he  restlessly  walked  away, 
sighing:  "  I  wish  I  were  with  her  on  the 
terrace." 

"'Sdeath,  Duchess,"  continued  Nell 
abruptly,  in  assumed  horror  at  the  sud 
den  thought,  "the  lady's  spirit  may  visit 
the  ball,  to  the  confusion  of  us  all.  Such 
things  have  been." 

"The  Nell  I  mean,"  said  Portsmouth, 
with  a  confident  smile,  "will  not  ven 
ture  here,  e'en  in  spirit." 

Nell  assumed  a  baby-innocence  efface. 
[  220  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"  She  has  not  been  bidden,  I  presume? " 
she  queried. 

"  The  vixen  would  not  stop  for  asking," 
declared  Portsmouth,  almost  fiercely. 

"Come  without  asking?"  cried  Nell, 
as  if  she  could  not  believe  that  there  could 
be  such  people  upon  the  earth. "  How  ill- 
bred!  Thine  ear,  loved  one.  My  Nell  re 
visits  the  world  again  at  midnight.  The 
rendezvous — St.  James's  Park." 

Hart  brushed  close  enough  to  the 
group,  in  his  biting  curiosity,  to  catch 
her  half-whisper  to  Portsmouth.  He  at 
once  sought  a  window  and  fresh  air,  chaf 
ing  with  surprise  and  indignation  at  what 
he  had  overheard. 

"St.  James's  at  midnight,"  he  mut 
tered.  "T  is  my  Nell's  abode." 

The  Duchess  herself  stood  stunned  at 
what  appeared  to  her  a  possible  revelation 
of  great  import. 

"St.  James's!"  she  thought.  "Can  he 
mean  Madame  Gwyn?  No,  no!" 

The  look  of  suspicion  which  for  an  in 
stant  had  clouded  her  face  changed  to  one 
of  merriment,  under  Adair'smagic  glance. 

221 


Mistress  Nell 


"  And  you  would  des.ert  me  for  such  a 
fleshless  sprite?"  she  asked. 

"Not  so,"  said  Nell,  with  a  winning 
look;  "but,  when  my  better-half  returns 
to  life,  I  surely  cannot  refuse  an  interview 
—  especially  an  she  come  from  afar." 

Nell's  eyes  arose  with  an  expression  of 
sadness,  while  her  finger  pointed  down- 
ward  in  the  direction  of  what  she  deemed 
theprobable  abode  of  her  departed  "Nell." 
Her  lips  twitched  in  merriment,  however, 
despite  her  efforts  to  the  contrary;  and  the 
hostess  fell  a-laughing. 

"Ladies,"  she  cried,  as  she  appealed  to 
one  and  all,  "is  not  le  Beau  a  delight — 
so  different  from  ordinary  men?" 

"I  am  not  an  ordinary  man,  I  assure 
you,"  Nell  hastened  to  declare. 

This  assertion  was  acquiesced  in  by  a 
buzz  of  pretty  compliments  from  the  en 
tire  bevy  of  ladies.  "Positively  charm 
ing!"  exclaimed  one.  "A  perfect  love!" 
said  another. 

Nell  listened  resignedly. 

"'Sheart,"  she  said,  at  length,  with  an 
air  of  ennui,  "I  cannot  help  it.  'Tis  all 
[  222  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

part  of  being  a  man,  you  know." 

"Would  that  all  men  were  like  you, 
le  Beau!"  sighed  the  hostess,  not  forget 
ting  to  glance  at  the  King,  who  again  sat 
disconsolate,  in  the  midst  of  his  attendant 
courtiers,  drawn  up,  as  in  line  of  battle, 
against  the  wall. 

"Heaven  help  us  if  they  were!"  slyly 
suggested  Nell. 

Rochester,  who  had  been  watching 
the  scene  in  his  mischievous,  artistic  way, 
drew  from  Portsmouth's  compliment  to 
Adair  another  meaning.  He  was  a  mix 
ture  'twixt  a  man  of  arts  and  letters  and 
Satan's  own  —  a  man  after  the  King's  own 
heart.  Turning  to  the  King,  with  no  de 
sire  to  appease  the  mischief  done,  he  said, 
banteringly: 

"Egad,  there's  a  rap  at  you,  Sire. 
France  would  make  you  jealous." 

The  Duke  of  Buckingham  too,  though 
he  appeared  asleep,  had  seen  it  all. 

"And  succeeds,  methinks,"  he  re 
flected,  glancing  approvingly  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  Irish  youth.  "A  good 
ally,  i' faith." 

[  223  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


Nell,  indeed,  was  using  all  her  arts  of 
fascination  to  ingratiate  herself  with  the 
Duchess,  and  making  progress,  too. 

"  Your  eyes  are  glorious,  fair  hostess," 
she  said,  in  her  most  gallant  love-tones, 
"did  I  not  see  my  rival  in  them." 

She  could  not,  however,  look  at  Ports 
mouth  for  laughter,  as  she  thought:  "I 
believe  lying  goes  with  the  breeches;  I 
never  was  so  proficient  before." 

The  compliment  aroused  the  King's 
sluggish  nature. 

"I  can  endure  no  more,  gallants," cried 
he,  with  some  pretence  of  anger,  rising 
abruptly,  followed,  of  course,  in  each 
move  and  grimace  by  his  courtier-apes, 
in  their  desire  to  please.  "Are  we  to  be 
out-done  in  our  own  realm  by  this  usurper 
with  a  brogue?  Ha!  The  fiddlers!  Ma 
dame,  I  claim  the  honour  of  this  fair  hand 
for  the  dance." 

At  the  sound  of  the  music,  he  had 
stepped  gallantly  forward,  taking  the 
hostess's  hand. 

"My  thanks,  gallant  masker,"  replied 
the  Duchess,  pretending  not  to  know 

[  224  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

him  for  flattery's  sake,  "but  I  am — " 

To  her  surprise,  she  had  no  opportunity 
to  complete  the  sentence. 

"Engaged!  Engaged!"  interposed 
Nell,  coming  unceremoniously  between 
them,  with  swaggering  assumption  and 
an  eye-shot  at  the  King  through  the  por 
tal  of  her  mask.  "  Forsooth,  some  other 
time,  strange  sir." 

The  hostess  stood  horrified. 

"Pardon,  Sir  Masker,"  she  hastened  to 
explain;  "but  the  dance  was  pledged  —  " 

"  No  apologies,  Duchess,"  replied  the 
King,  as  he  turned  away,  carelessly,  with 
the  reflection:  "All's  one  to  me  at  this 
assemblage." 

He  crossed  the  room,  turning  an  instant 
to  look,  with  ahumorous,  quizzical  glance, 
at  Portsmouth.  Nell  mistook  the  glance 
for  a  jealous  one  and,  perking  up  quickly, 
caught  the  royal  eye  with  a  challenging 
eye,  tapping  her  sword-hilt  meaningly. 
Had  the  masks  been  off,  the  situation 
would  have  differed.  As  it  was,  the  King 
smiled  indifferently.  The  episode  did  not 
affecl:  him  further  than  to  touch  his  sense 
[  225  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


of  humour.  Nell  turned  triumphantly  to 
her  partner. 

"  Odsbud,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  de 
licious,  youthful  swagger,  "  we  may  have 
to  measure  swords  in  your  behalf,  dear 
hostess.  I  trow  the  fellow  loves  you." 

"Have  a  care,"  whispered  the  Duch 
ess,  nervously.  "  It  is  the  King." 

"What  care  I  for  a  king?"  saucily 
replied  Nell,  with  a  finger-snap.  She 
had  taken  good  care,  however,  to  speak 
very  low.  "  My  arm,  my  arm,  Duchess! " 
she  continued,  with  a  gallant  step. 
"Places,  places;  or  the  music  will  out 
strip  us." 

"  Strut  on,  my  pretty  bantam,"  thought 
Buckingham,  whose  eyes  lost  little  that 
might  be  turned  to  his  own  advantage; 
"I  like  you  well." 

There  was  no  mending  things  at  this 
stage  by  an  apology.  The  Duchess,  there 
fore,  taclfully  turned  the  affair  into  one 
of  mirth,  in  which  she  was  quickly  joined 
by  her  guests.  With  a  merry  laugh,  she 
took  the  Irish  gallant's  proffered  arm, 
and  together  they  led  the  dance.  The 
[  226  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

King  picked  a  lady  indifferently  from 
among  the  maskers. 

It  was  a  graceful  old  English  measure. 
Nell's  roguish  wits,  as  well  as  her  feet, 
kept  pace  with  the  music.  She  assured 
her  partner  that  she  had  never  loved  a 
woman  in  all  her  life  before  and  followed 
this  with  a  hundred  merry  jests  and  sallies, 
keyed  to  the  merry  riddles,  so  full  of  blar 
ney  that  all  were  set  a-laughing.  Anon, 
the  gallants  drew  their  swords  and  crossed 
them  in  the  air,  while  the  ladies  tiptoed 
in  and  out.  Nell's  blade  touched  the 
King's  blade.  When  all  was  ended  the 
swords  saluted  with  a  knightly  flourish, 
then  tapped  the  floor. 

There  was  an  exultant  laugh  from  one 
and  all,  and  the  dance  was  done. 

Nell  hastened  to  her  partner's  side.  She 
caught  the  Duchess's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"You  dance  divinely,  your  grace,"  she 
said.  "A  goddess  on  tiptoe." 

"  Oh,  Beau  Adair ! "  replied  the  Duch 
ess,  courtesying  low;  and  her  eyes  showed 
that  she  was  not  wholly  displeased  at  the 
warmth  of  his  youthful  adoration. 
[   227  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"Oh,  Duchess!"  said  Nell,  fondly,  ac 
knowledging  the  salute. 

The  Duchess  hastened  to  join  his  Maj 
esty  and  together  they  threaded  their  way 
through  many  groups. 

Nell  tossed  her  head. 

"How  I  love  her! "  she  muttered,  veil 
ing  the  sarcasm  under  her  breath. 

She  crossed  the  great  room,  her  head 
ere6l.  Her  confidence  was  quite  restored. 
This  had  been  the  most  difficult  bit  of 
acling  she  had  ever  done;  and  how  well 
it  had  been  done! 

The  other  dancers  in  twos  and  threes 
passed  from  the  room  in  search  of  quiet 
corners,  in  which  to  whisper  nothings. 

Nell's  eyes  fell  upon  Strings,  who  had 
had  a  slight  turn  for  the  better  in  the 
world  and  who  now,  in  a  dress  of  some 
what  substantial  green,  was  one  of  the 
fiddlers  at  the  Duchess's  ball. 

"  How  now,  sirrah ! "  she  said,  sharply, 
as  she  planted  herself  firmly  before  him 
to  his  complete  surprise.  "I  knew  you 
were  here." 

She  placed  one  of  her  feet  in  a  devil- 


A  Merry  T'ale  of  a  Merry  'Time 

may-care  fashion  upon  a  convenient  chair 
in  manly  contempt  of  its  upholstery  and 
peeped  amusedly  through  her  mask  at 
her  old  friend.  He  looked  at  her  in  blank 
amazement. 

"Gads-bobbs,"  he  exclaimed,  in  con 
fusion,  "the  Irish  gentleman  knows  me!" 

"There's  nothing  like  your  old  fiddle, 
Strings,"  continued  Nell,  still  playing 
with  delight  upon  his  consternation.  "It 
fills  me  with  forty  dancing  devils.  If  you 
were  to  play  at  my  wake,  I  would  pick 
up  my  shroud,  and  dance  my  way  into 
Paradise." 

"Your  I'ordship  has  danced  to  my  fid 
dling  before? "  he  gasped,  in  utter  amaze 
ment. 

"Danced!"  gleefully  cried  Nell.  "I 
have  followed  your  bow  through  a  thou 
sand  jigs.  To  the  devil  with  these  court- 
steps.  I'm  for  a  jig,  jig,  jig,  jig,  jig!  Oh, 
I'm  for  a  jig!  Tune  up,  tune  up,  comrade; 
and  we'll  have  a  touch  of  the  old  days 
at  the  King's  House." 

"The  King's  House!  Jigs!  "  exclaimed 
the  fiddler,  now  beside  himself. 
[   229  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"Jigs!"  chuckled  Nell.  "Jigs  are  my 
line  of  business." 

Oranges,  will  you  have  my  oranges? 

Sweet  as  love-lips,  dearest  mine, 
Picked  by  Spanish  maids  divine,  — 

The  room  had  now  quite  cleared;  and, 
protected  by  a  friendly  alcove,  Nell  punct 
uated  the  old  song  with  a  few  happily 
turned  jig-steps.  Strings  looked  at  her  a 
moment  in  bewilderment:  then  his  face 
grew  warm  with  smiles;  the  mystery  was 
explained. 

"Mistress  Nell,  as  I  live,"  he  cried, 
joyously,  "turned  boy!" 

"  The  devil  fly  away  with  you,  you  old 
idiot!  Boy,  indeed!"  replied  Nell,  indig 
nantly.  "I'm  a  full-grown  widower!" 

She  had  removed  her  mask  and  was 
dancing  about  Strings  gleefully. 

There  was  the  sound  of  returning 
voices. 

"Oons,  you  will  be  discovered,"  ex 
claimed  Strings,  cautiously. 

"Marry,  I  forgot,"  whispered  Nell, 
glancing  over  her  shoulder.  "You  may 

[   230   ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

have  to  help  me  out  o'  this  scrape,  Strings, 
before  the  night  is  done." 

"You  can  count  on  me,  Mistress  Nell, 
with  life,"  he  replied,  earnestly. 

"  I  believe  you ! "  said  Nell,  in  her  sym 
pathetic,  hearty  way.  Her  mind  reverted 
to  the  old  days  when  Strings  and  she  were 
at  the  King's.  "  Oh,  for  just  one  jig  with 
no  petticoats  to  hinder." 

Nell,  despite  herself,  had  fallen  into  an 
old-time  jig,  with  much  gusto,  for  her 
heart  was  for  a  frolic  always,  when  Strings 
seized  her  arm  in  consternation,  point 
ing  through  the  archway. 

"The  King!"  she  exclaimed. 

She  clapped  her  mask  to  her  eyes  and 
near  tumbled  through  the  nearest  arras  out 
of  the  room  in  her  eagerness  to  escape, 
dragging  her  ever-faithful  comrade  with 
her. 


CHAPTER    XIII 


For  the  glory  of  England? 


A  HE  King  entered  the  room  with  his 
historic  stride.  His  brow  was  clouded;  but 
it  was  all  humorous  pretence,  for  trifles 
were  not  wont  to  weigh  heavily  upon  his 
Majesty.  With  him  came  Portsmouth. 

"Can  you  forgive  me,  Sire?"  she 
asked.  "  I  had  promised  the  dance  to  Beau 
Adair.  I  did  not  know  you,  Sire;  you 
masked  so  cleverly." 

"'Sdeath,  fair  flatterer!"  replied  the 
King.  "I  have  lived  too  long  to  worry 
o'er  the  freaks  of  women." 

"The  youth  knew  not  to  whom  he 
spoke,"  still  pleaded  Portsmouth.  "His 
introduction  here  bespeaks  his  pardon, 
Sire." 

The  King  looked  sardonic,  but  his 
laugh  had  a  human  ring. 

"He  is  too  pretty  to  kill,"  he  de 
clared,  dramatically.  "We'll  forgive  him 

[  232  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

for  your  sake.  And  now  good  night." 

"So  soon?"  asked  Portsmouth,  anx 
iously. 

"  It  is  late,"  he  replied. 

"Not  while  the  King  is  here,"  she 
sighed.  "  Night  comes  only  when  he  de 
parts." 

"  Your  words  are  sweet,"  said  Charles, 
thoughtfully  observing  her. 

She  sighed  again. 

"My  thoughts  stumble  in  your 
speech,"  she  said.  "I  regret  I  have  not 
English  blood  within  my  veins." 

"And  why?" 

"The  King  would  trust  and  love  me 
then.  He  does  not  now.  I  am  French  and 
powerless  to  do  him  good." 

There  was  a  touch  of  honest  sadness 
in  her  speech  which  awakened  the  King's 
sympathy. 

"  Nay,"  he  said  hastily,  to  comfort  her; 
"'tis  thy  fancy.  Thy  entertainment  hath 
made  me  grateful  —  to  Louis  and  Louise." 

"Think  not  of  Louis  and  Louise,"  she 
said,  sadly  and  reproachfully,  "but  of  thy 
dear  self  and  England's  glory.  For  shame! 

[   233   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


Ah,  Sire,  my  childhood-dreams  were  of 
sunny  France,  where  I  was  born;  at  Ver 
sailles —  at  Fontainebleau  among  the 
monarch  trees  —  my  early  womanhood 
sighed  for  love.  France  gave  me  all  but 
that.  It  came  not  till  I  saw  the  English 
King!" 

The  siren  of  the  Nile  never  looked 
more  bewitchingly  beautiful  than  this 
siren  of  France  as  she  half  reclined  upon 
the  couch,  playing  upon  the  King's  heart 
with  a  bit  of  memory.  His  great  nature 
realized  her  sorrow  and  encompassed  it. 

"And  am  I  not  good  to  thee,  child?" 
he  asked.  He  took  her  hand  and  responded 
to  her  eyes,  though  not  with  the  tender 
ness  of  love  —  the  tenderness  for  which 
she  sought. 

"You  are  good  to  none,"  she  replied, 
bitterly ; "  for  you  are  not  good  to  Charles." 

"  You  speak  enigmas,"  he  said,  curious. 

"Have  you  forgotten  your  promise?  " 
she  asked,  naively. 

"Nay;  the  passport,  pretty  one?"  he 
answered,  amused  at  the  woman's  wiles. 
"All  this  subterfuge  of  words  for  that! 

[  234  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

There;  rest  in  peace.  Thy  friend  hath  a 
path  to  France  at  will." 

He  smiled  kindly  as  he  took  the  pass 
port  from  his  girdle,  handed  it  to  her  and 
turned  to  take  his  leave. 

"  My  thanks  are  yours.  Stay,  Sire,"  she 
said,  hastily;  for  her  mission  was  not  yet 
complete  and  the  night  was  now  well 
gone.  "  Passports  are  trifles.  Will  you  not 
leave  the  Dutch  to  Louis  and  his  army? 
Think!" 

She  placed  her  arms  about  his  neck 
and  looked  enticingly  into  his  eyes. 

"  But,"  he  replied,  kindly,  "  my  people 
demand  that  I  intervene  and  stay  my 
brother  Louis's  aggressive  hand." 

"Are  the  people  king? "  she  asked,  with 
coy  insinuation.  "Do  they  know  best  for 
England's  good?  Nay,  Sire,  for  your  good 
and  theirs,  I  beseech,  no  more  royal  sym 
pathy  for  Holland.  I  speak  to  avoid  en 
tanglements  for  King  Charles  and  to  make 
his  reign  the  greater.  I  love  you,  Sire." 
She  fell  upon  her  knee.  "  I  speak  for  the 
glory  of  England." 

His   Majesty  was  influenced  by  her 

[   235  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


beauty  and  her  arts,  —  what  man  would 
not  be?  —  but  more  by  the  sense  of  what 
she  said. 

"  For  the  glory  of  England?"  he  asked 
himself.  "True,  my  people  are  wrong. 
'Tis  better  we  remain  aloof.  No  wars!" 

He  took  the  seat  by  the  table,  which 
the  Duchess  offered  him,  and  scanned 
casually  the  parchment  which  she  handed 
to  him. 

Nell  peered  between  the  curtains. 
Strings  was  close  behind  her. 

"Bouillon's  signature  for  France," 
mused  the  King.  "'Tis  well!  No  more 
sympathy  for  the  Dutch,  Louise,  until 
Holland  sends  a  beauty  to  our  court  to 
outshine  France's  ambassador." 

He  looked  at  Portsmouth,  smiled  and 
signed  the  instrument,  which  had  been 
prepared,  as  he  thought,  in  accordance 
with  his  wishes  and  directions.  He  then 
carelessly  tossed  the  sand  over  the  signa 
ture  to  blot  it. 

The  fair  Duchess's  eyes  revealed  all  the 
things  which  all  the  adjectives  of  all  the 
lands  ever  meant. 

[  236  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"Holland  may  outshine  in  beauty, 
Sire,"  she  said,  kneeling  by  the  King's 
side,  "but  not  in  sacrifice  and  love."  She 
kissed  his  hand  fervently. 

He  sat  complacently  looking  into  her 
eyes,  scarce  mindful  of  her  insinuating 
arts  of  love.  He  was  fascinated  with  her, 
it  is  true;  but  it  was  with  her  beauty,  flat 
tery  and  sophistry,  not  her  heart. 

"  I  believe  thou  dost  love  England  and 
her  people's  good,"  he  said,  finally.  "Thy 
words  art  wise." 

Portsmouth  leaned  fondly  over  his 
shoulder. 

"One  more  request,"  she  said,  with 
modest  mien,  "a  very  little  one,  Sire." 

The  King  laughed  buoyantly. 

"Nay,  an  I  stay  here,"  he  said,  "thy 
beauty  will  win  my  kingdom!  What  is 
thy  little  wish,  sweet  sovereign?" 

"No  more  Parliaments  in  England, 
Sire,"  she  said,  softly. 

"What,  woman!"  he  exclaimed,  ris 
ing,  half-aghast,  half-humorous,  at  the 
suggestion;  for  he  too  had  an  opinion  of 
Parliament. 

[   237  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"To  cross  the  sway  of  thy  great  royal 
state-craft,"  she  continued,  quickly  fol 
lowing  up  the  advantage  which  her 
woman's  wit  taught  her  she  had  gained. 
"The  people's  sufferings  from  taxation 
spring  from  Parliament  only,  Sire." 

"  'T  is  true,"  agreed  Charles,  decisively. 

Portsmouth  half  embraced  him. 

"For  the  people's  good,  Sire,"  she 
urged,  "for  my  sweetest  kiss." 

"  You  are  mad,"  said  Charles,  yet  three- 
fourths  convinced;  "my  people  —  " 

"  Will  be  richer  for  my  kiss,"  the  Duch 
ess  interrupted,  wooingly,  "and  their 
King,  by  divine  right  and  heritage,  will 
rule  untrammelled  by  country  clowns, 
court  knaves  and  foolish  lords,  who  now 
make  up  a  silly  Parliament.  With  such 
a  King,  England  will  be  better  with  no 
Parliament  to  hinder.  Think,  Sire,  think ! " 

"I  have  thought  of  this  before,"  said 
Charles,  who  had  often  found  Parliament 
troublesome  and,  therefore,  useless.  "The 
taxes  will  be  less  and  contention  saved." 

"Why  hesitate  then?"  she  asked. 
"This  hour's  as  good  for  a  good  deed  as 
any."  [ 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"  For  England's  sake  ? "  refleded Charles, 
inquiringly,  as  he  took  the  second  parch 
ment  from  her  hands. "  Heaven  direct  my 
judgment  for  my  people's  good.  I  sign." 

The  treaties  which  Louis  XIV.  of 
France  had  sent  the  artful  beauty  to  pro 
cure  lay  signed  upon  her  desk. 

Nell  almost  pulled  the  portieres  from 
their  hangings  in  her  excitement. 

"  I  must  see  those  papers,"  she  thought. 
"There's  no  good  brewing." 

Portsmouth  threw  her  arms  about  the 
King  and  kissed  him  passionately. 

"Now,  indeed,  has  England  a  great 
King,"  she  said,  adding  to  herself:  "And 
that  King  Louis's  slave!" 

Charles  smiled  and  took  his  leave.  As 
he  passed  through  the  portal,  he  wiped 
his  lips,  good-humouredly  muttering: 
"Portsmouth's  kisses  and  Nell's  do  not 
mix  well." 

Portsmouth  listened  for  a  moment  to 
his  departing  footsteps,  then  dropped 
into  the  chair  by  the  table  and  hastily 
folded  and  addressed  the  papers. 

Her  mission  was  ended! 
[   239  ] 


CHAPTER     XIV 


He  loves  me!  He  loves  me! 


N: 


ELL,  half  draped  in  the  arras,  had 
seen  the  kiss  in  reality  bestowed  by  Ports 
mouth  but  as  she  thought  bestowed  by  the 
King.  As  his  Majesty  departed  through 
the  door  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room, 
the  colour  came  and  went  in  her  cheeks. 
She  could  scarce  breathe. 

Portsmouth  sat  unconscious  of  all  but 
her  own  grand  achievement.  She  had  ac 
complished  what  shrewd  statesmen  had 
failed  to  bring  about;  and  this  would  be 
appreciated,  she  well  knew,  by  Louis. 

"'Sdeath!"  muttered  Nell  to  herself, 
hotly,  as,  with  quite  a  knightly  bearing, 
she  approached  the  Duchess.  "  He  kisses 
her  before  my  very  eyes!  He  kisses  her! 
I '11  kill  the  minx! "  She  half  unsheathed 
her  blade.  "Pshaw!  No!  No!  I  am  too 
gallant  to  kill  the  sex.  I  '11  do  the  very 
manly  act  and  simply  break  her  heart. 
[  240  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  'Time 

Aye,  that  is  true  bravery  in  breeches." 

Her  manner  changed. 

"Your  grace!"  she  said  suavely. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Portsmouth,  her  eyes 
still  gleaming  triumphantly. 

"  It  seems  you  are  partial  of  your  fa 
vours?" 

"Yes." 

"  Such  a  gift  from  lips  less  fair,"  con 
tinued  Nell,  all  in  wooing  vein,  "would 
make  a  beggar  royal." 

The  hostess  was  touched  with  the 
phrasing  of  the  compliment.  She  smiled. 

"You  would  be  pleased  to  think  me 
fair?"  she  coyly  asked,  with  the  air  of 
one  convinced  that  it  could  not  well  be 
otherwise. 

"  Fairer  than  yon  false  gallant  thinks 
you,"  cried  Nell,  with  an  angry  toss  of 
the  head  in  the  direction  of  the  departed 
King.  "  Charles's  kiss  upon  her  lips? "  she 
thought.  "Tis  mine,  and  I  will  have  it." 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  she  threw 
both  arms  wildly  about  the  neck  of  the 
astonished  hostess  and  kissed  her  force 
fully  upon  the  lips.  Then,  with  a  ringing 

[  241   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


laugh,  tinged  with  triumph,  she  stepped 
back,  assuming  a  defiant  air. 

The  Duchess  paled  with  anger.  She  rose 
quickly  and,  turning  on  the  pretty  youth, 
exclaimed:  "Sir,  what  do  you  mean?" 

" Tilly-vally ! "  replied  the  naughty 
Nell,  in  her  most  winning  way.  "A  frown 
upon  that  alabaster  brow,  a  pout  upon 
those  rosy  lips;  and  all  for  nothing!" 

"Parbleu!"  exclaimed  the  indignant 
Duchess.  "  Your  impudenceis outrageous, 
sir !  We  will  dispense  with  your  company. 
Good  night!" 

"Ods-pitikins!"  swaggered  Nell, 
feigning  umbrage.  "Angry  because  I 
kissed  you !  You  have  no  right,  madame, 
to  be  angry." 

"No  right?"  asked  Portsmouth,  her 
feelings  tempered  by  surprise. 

"  No  right,"  repeated  Nell,  firmly.  "  It 
is  I  who  should  be  outraged  at  your  anger." 

"Explain,  sir,"  said  the  Duchess, 
haughtily. 

Nell  stepped  toward  the  lady,  and,  as 
suming  her  most  tender  tone,  with  wist 
ful,  loving  eyes,  declared: 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"  Because  your  grace  can  have  no  ap 
preciation  of  what  my  temptation  was  to 
kiss  you." 

The  Duchess's  countenance  glowed 
with  delight,  despite  herself. 

"  I' faith,  was  there  a  temptation? "  she 
asked,  quite  mollified. 

"An  overwhelming  passion,"  cried 
Nell,  following  up  her  advantage. 

"And  you  were  disappointed,  sir?" 
asked  Portsmouth  suggestively,  her  vanity 
falling  captive  to  the  sweet  cajolery. 

"  I  only  got  yon  courtier's  kiss,"  sau 
cily  pouted  Nell,  "  so  lately  bestowed  on 

•>•> 
you. 

"Do  you  know  whose  kiss  that  was?" 
inquired  the  Duchess. 

"  It  seemed  familiar,"  answered  Nell, 
dryly. 

"The  King's,"  said  Portsmouth, 
proudly. 

"The  King's!"  cried  Nell,  opening 
wide  her  eyes.  "Take  back  your  kiss.  I 
would  not  have  it." 

"Indeed!"  said  Portsmouth,  smiling. 

"'Tis  too  volatile,"  charged  Nell,  de- 

[  243   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


cisively.  "'Tis  here,  'tis  there,  'tis  every 
where  bestowed.  Each  rosy  tavern-wench 
with  a  pretty  ankle  commands  it  halt.  A 
kiss  is  the  gift  of  God,  the  emblem  of 
true  love.  Take  back  the  King's  kiss;  I 
do  not  wish  it." 

"  He  does  not  love  the  King,"  thought 
Portsmouth,  ever  on  the  lookout  for  ad 
vantage.  "A  possible  ally!" 

She  turned  upon  the  youth,  with  hu 
morous,  mocking  lip,  and  said  reprov 
ingly:  "A  kiss  is  a  kiss  the  world  over, 
fair  sir;  and  the  King's  kisses  are  sacred 
to  Portsmouth's  lips." 

"Zounds,"  replied  Nell,  with  a  wicked 
wink,  "  not  two  hours  since,  he  bestowed 
a  kiss  on  Eleanor  Gwyn  — " 

"Nell  Gwyn!"  cried  the  Duchess,  in 
terrupting;  and  she  started  violently. 

"  With  oaths,  mountains  high,"  con 
tinued  Nell,  with  pleasurable  harshness, 
"that  his  lips  were  only  for  her." 

The  Duchess  stood  speechless,  quiver 
ing  from  top  to  toe. 

Nell  herself  swaggered  carelessly  across 
the  room,  muttering  mischievously,  as 

[  244  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

she  watched  the  Duchess  from  the  corner 
of  her  eye:  "  Methinks  that  speech  went 
home." 

"He  kissed  her  in  your  presence?" 
gasped  Portsmouth,  anxiously  following 
her. 

"  I  was  not  far  off,  dear  Duchess,"  was 
the  quizzical  reply. 

"You  saw  the  kiss?" 

"No,"  answered  Nell,  dryly,  and  she 
could  scarce  contain  her  merriment.  "I — 
I  —  felt  the  shock." 

Before  she  had  finished  the  sentence, 
the  King  appeared  in  the  doorway.  His 
troubled  spirit  had  led  him  to  return,  to 
speak  further  with  the  Duchess  regarding 
the  purport  of  the  treaties.  He  had  the 
good  of  his  people  at  heart,  and  he  was 
not  a  little  anxious  in  mind  lest  he  had 
been  over-hasty  in  signing  such  weighty 
articles  without  a  more  careful  reading. 
He  stopped  short  as  he  beheld,  to  his  sur 
prise,  the  Irish  spark  Adair  in  earnest 
converse  with  his  hostess. 

"  I  hate  Nell  Gwyn,"  he  overheard  the 
Duchess  say. 

[245  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"Is't  possible?"  interrogated  Nell, 
with  wondering  eyes. 

The  King  caught  this  utterance  as  well. 

"  In  a  passion  over  Nelly? "  reflected  he. 
"I'd  sooner  face  Cromwell's  soldiers  at 
Boscobel!  All  hail  the  oak!" 

His  Majesty's  eye  saw  with  a  welcome 
the  spreading  branches  of  the  monarch  of 
the  forest,  outlined  on  the  tapestry;  and, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief,  he  glided  quickly 
behind  it  and,  joining  a  group  of  maskers, 
passed  into  an  anteroom,  quite  out  of 
ear-shot. 

"  Most  strange ! "  continued  Nell,  won- 
deringly.  "  Nell  told  me  but  yesterday 
that  Portsmouth  was  charming  company 
—  but  a  small  eater." 

"  'T  is  false,"  cried  the  Duchess,  and  her 
brow  clouded  at  the  unpleasant  memory 
of  the  meeting  at  Ye  Blue  Boar.  "  I  never 
met  the  swearing  orange-wench." 

"  Ods-pitikins ! "  acquiesced  Nell,  woe 
fully.  "Nell's  oaths  are  bad  enough  for 
men." 

"Masculine creature!  "spitefully ejacu 
lated  the  Duchess. 

1 246  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"Verily,  quite  masculine  —  of  late," 
said  Nell,  demurely,  giving  a  significant 
tug  at  her  boot-top. 

"A  vulgar  player,"  continued  the  in 
dignant  Duchess,  "  loves  every  lover  who 
wears  gold  lace  and  tosses  coins." 

"  Nay ;  't  is  false ! "  denied  Nell,  sharply. 

The  Duchess  looked  up,  surprised. 

Nell  was  all  obeisance  in  an  instant. 

"  Pardon,  dear  hostess,  a  thousand  par 
dons,"  she  prayed;  "  but  I  have  some  rea 
son  to  know  you  misjudge  Mistress  Nell. 
With  all  her  myriad  faults,  she  never 
loved  but  one." 

"You  seem  solicitous  for  her  good 
name,  dear  Beau ? "  suggested  Portsmouth, 
suspiciously. 

"  I  am  solicitous  for  the  name  of  all  good 
women,"  promptly  explained  Nell,  who 
was  rarely  caught  a-napping,  "or  I  would 
be  unworthy  of  their  sex — I  mean  their 
friendship." 

The  Duchess  seemed  satisfied  with  the 
explanation. 

"Dear  Beau,  what  do  the  cavaliers  see 
in  that  horrid  creature? "  archly  asked  the 

[   247   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


Duchess,  contemptuous  of  this  liking  of 
the  stronger  sex. 

"  Alack-a-day,  we  men,  you  know," 
replied  Nell,  boastfully,  "well  —  the  best 
of  us  make  mistakes  in  women." 

"Are  you  mistaken? "  questioned  Ports 
mouth,  coyly. 

"  What? "  laughed  Nell,  in  high  amuse 
ment.  "  I  love  Nelly?  Nay,  Duchess,"  and 
her  voice  grew  tender, "  I  adore  but  one !" 

"And  she?"  asked  the  hostess,  encour 
aging  the  youth's  apparently  awakening 
passion. 

"How  can  you  ask?"  said  Nell,  with 
a  deep  sigh,  looking  adoringly  into 
Portsmouth's  eyes  and  almost  embrac 
ing  her. 

"Do  you  not  fear?"  inquired  Ports 
mouth,  well  pleased. 

"Fear  what?"  questioned  Nell. 

"My  wrath,"  said  Portsmouth. 

"Nay,  more,  thy  love!"  sighed  Nell, 
meaningly,  assuming  a  true  lover's  de- 
jecled  visage. 

"My  love!"  cried  Portsmouth,  curi 
ously. 

[  248  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"Aye,"  again  sighed  Nell,  more  deeply 
still;  "for  it  is  hopeless." 

"Try,"  said  the  Duchess,  almost  rest 
ing  her  head  upon  Nell's  shoulder. 

"  I  am  doing  my  best,"  said  Nell,  her 
eyes  dancing  through  wistful  lashes,  as 
she  embraced  in  earnest  the  Duchess's 
graceful  figure  and  held  it  close. 

"  Do  you  find  it  hopeless? "  asked  Ports 
mouth,  returning  the  embrace. 

"  Until  you  trust  me,"  replied  Nell, 
sadly.  She  shook  her  curls,  then  fondly 
pleaded:  "Give  me  the  secrets  of  your 
brain  and  heart,  and  then  I  '11  know  you 
love  me." 

The  hostess  smiled  and  withdrew  from 
the  embrace.  Nell  stood  the  picture  of 
forlorn  and  hopeless  love. 

"Nay,"  laughed  Portsmouth,  consol 
ingly,  "they  would  sink  a  ship." 

"One  would  not,"  still  pleaded  Nell, 
determined  at  all  odds  to  have  the  packet. 

"One!"  The  Duchess's  eyes  fell  un 
consciously  upon  the  papers  which  she 
had  bewitched  from  the  King  and  which 
lay  so  near  her  heart.  She  started  first  with 

[   249  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


fear;  and  then  her  countenance  assumed  a 
thoughtful  cast. 

There  was  no  time  now  for  delay.  The 
papers  must  be  sent  immediately.  The 
King  might  return  and  retrac~l.  Many  a 
battle,  she  knew,  had  been  lost  after  it  had 
been  won. 

That  night,  at  the  Rainbow  Tavern, 
well  out  of  reach  of  the  town,  of  court 
spies  and  gossips,  Louis  would  have  a 
trusted  one  in  waiting.  His  commission 
was  to  receive  news  from  various  points 
and  transmit  it  secretly  to  France.  It  was 
a  ride  of  but  a  few  hours  to  him. 

She  had  purposed  to  send  the  packet 
by  her  messenger  in  waiting;  but  he  had 
rendered  her  suspicious  by  his  speech  and 
aclion  in  the  late  afternoon,  and  she  ques 
tioned  whether  she  would  be  wise  in  trust 
ing  him.  Nor  was  she  willing  to  risk  her 
triumph  in  the  hands  of  Buckingham's 
courier.  It  was  too  dear  to  her. 

Indeed,  she  was  clever  enough  to  know 
that  state-secrets  are  often  safer  in  the  cus 
tody  of  a  disinterested  stranger  than  in  the 
hands  of  a  friend,  especially  if  the  stranger 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

be  truly  a  stranger  to  the  court. 

She  glanced  quickly  in  the  direction 
of  Nell,  who  looked  the  ideal  of  daring 
youth,  innocent,  honest  and  true  to  the 
death. 

"Why  not?"  she  thought  quickly,  as 
she  reflected  again  upon  Rochet's  words, 
"  to  be  trusted."  "  Of  Irish  descent,  no  love 
for  the  King,  young,  brave,  no  court  ties; 
none  will  suspect  or  stay  him." 

Her  woman's  intuition  said  "yes."  She 
turned  upon  Nell  and  asked,  not  without 
agitation  in  her  voice: 

"Can  I  trust  you?" 

Nell's  sword  was  out  in  an  instant, 
glistening  in  the  light,  and  so  promptly 
that  the  Duchess  started.  Nell  saluted, 
fell  upon  one  knee  and  said,  with  all  the 
exuberance  of  audacious,  loving  youth: 

"  My  sword  and  life  are  yours." 

Portsmouth  looked  deeply  into  Nell's 
honest  eyes.  She  was  convinced. 

"This  little  packet,"  said  she,  in  sub 
dued  tones,  summoning  Nell  to  her  side, 
"  a  family  matter  merely,  must  reach  the 
Rainbow  Tavern,  on  the  Canterbury 

[  251  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


Road,  by  sunrise,  where  one  is  waiting. 
You  '11  find  his  description  on  the  packet." 

Nell  sheathed  her  sword. 

"  I  know  the  place  and  road,"  she  said, 
earnestly,  as  she  took  the  papers  from  the 
Duchess's  hand  and  placed  them  carefully 
in  her  doublet. 

A  rustle  of  the  curtains  indicated  that 
some  one  had  returned  and  was  listening 
by  the  arras. 

"Hush!"  cautioned  Portsmouth.  "Be 
true,  and  you  will  win  my  love." 

Nell  did  not  reply,  save  to  the  glance 
that  accompanied  the  words.  Snatching 
her  hat  from  a  chair  on  which  she  had 
tossed  it,  she  started  eagerly  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  great  stairs  that  led  to  the  hall 
way  below,  where,  an  hour  since,  she  had 
been  at  first  refused  admission  to  the  pal 
ace.  Could  she  but  pass  again  the  guards, 
all  would  be  well;  and  surely  there  was 
now  no  cause  for  her  detention.  Yet  her 
heart  beat  tumultuously  —  faster  even 
than  when  she  presented  herself  with 
Rochet's  letter  written  by  herself. 

As  she  was  hastening   by  the  arras, 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

her  quick  eye,  however,  recognized  the 
King's  long  plume  behind  it;  and  she 
halted  in  her  course.  She  was  alert  with 
a  thousand  maddening  thoughts  crowd 
ing  her  brain,  all  in  an  instant. 

"The  King  returned — an  eaves 
dropper!"  she  reflected.  "Jealous  of 
Portsmouth;  his  eyes  follow  her.  Where 
are  his  vows  to  Nell?  I'll  defame  Nell's 
name,  drag  her  fair  honour  in  the  mire; 
so,  Charles,  we'll  test  your  manliness  and 
love." 

She  recrossed  the  room  quickly  to 
Portsmouth. 

"Madame,"  she  exclaimed,  in  crisp, 
nervous  tones,  loud  enough  for  the  King's 
ear,  "I  have  been  deceiving,  lying  to  you. 
I  stood  here,  praising,  honouring  Eleanor 
Gwyn  —  an  apple  rotten  to  the  core!" 

"  How  now? "  ejaculated  Charles,  in  an 
undertone. 

His  carelessness  vanished  upon  the  in 
stant.  Where  he  had  waited  for  the  single 
ear  of  Portsmouth,  he  became  at  once  an 
earnest  listener. 

Nell  paused  not. 

[   253   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"  I  had  a  friend  who  told  me  he  loved 
Nell.  I  loved  that  friend.  God  knows  I 
loved  him." 

"Yes,  yes!"  urged  Portsmouth,  with 
eagerness. 

"A  man  of  noble  name  and  princely 
mien,"  continued  Nell,  so  standing  that 
the  words  went,  like  arrows,  straight  to  the 
King's  ear  and  heart,  "a  man  of  honour, 
who  would  have  died  fighting  for  Nell's 
honour — " 

"Misled  youth,"  muttered  Ports 
mouth. 

Nell  seemed  not  to  hear  the  words. 

"  Who,  had  he  heard  a  murmur  of  dis 
approval,  a  shadow  cast  upon  her  name, 
would  have  sealed  in  death  the  presump 
tuous  lips  which  uttered  it." 

"She  betrayed  his  confidence?"  asked 
Portsmouth,  breathlessly. 

"Betrayed  —  and  worse!"  gesticulated 
Nell,  with  the  visage  of  a  madman.  "A 
woman  base,  without  a  spark  of  kindli 
ness —  an  adventuress!  This  is  the  picture 
of  that  Eleanor  Gwyn!  Where  is  a  cham 
pion  to  take  up  the  gauntlet  for  such  a 
Nell?"  [  254  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

As  quick  as  light,  the  King  threw 
back  the  arras  and  came  between  them. 
The  Duchess  saw  him  and  cried  out  in 
surprise.  Nell  did  not  turn  —  only  caught 
a  chair-top  to  save  herself  from  falling. 

"Here,  thou  defamer!"  he  called,  his 
voice  husky  with  passion.  "Thou  base 
purveyor  of  lies,  answer  me  —  me,  for 
those  words!  I  am  Nell's  champion!  I'll 
force  you  to  own  your  slander  a  lie." 

The  King  was  terribly  in  earnest. 

"  The  guard !  The  guard ! "  called  Ports 
mouth,  faintly,  almost  overcome  by  the 
scene.  In  her  passion  that  the  King  so  re 
vealed  his  love  for  Nell,  she  quite  forgot 
that  Adair  was  the  bearer  of  her  packet. 

"I  want  no  guard,"  commanded  the 
King.  "An  insult  to  Nell  Gwyn  is  my 
cause  alone." 

Nell  was  in  an  elysium  of  ecstasy.  She 
realized  nothing,  saw  nothing. 

"  He  loves  me !  He  loves  me ! "  her  trem 
bling  lips  breathed  only.  "  He  '11  fight  for 
Nell." 

"Come;  draw  and  defend  yourself," 
angrily  cried  the  King. 

[  255  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


Portsmouth  screamed  and  fell  upon 
his  arm. 

It  is  doubtful  what  the  result  would 
otherwise  have  been.  True,  Nell  oft- 
times  had  fenced  with  the  King  and 
knew  his  wrist,  but  she  was  no  swords- 
woman  now.  Though  she  took  up  in  her 
delirium  the  King's  challenge  with  a  wild 
cry,  "Aye,  draw  and  defend  yourself!" 
she  realized  nothing  but  his  confession 
of  love  for  Nell. 

The  scene  was  like  a  great  blur  before 
her  eyes. 

She  rushed  upon  the  King  and  by 
him,  she  scarce  knew  how.  Their  swords 
harmlessly  clashed;  that  was  all. 

The  cries  had  been  taken  up  without. 

"The  guard !  The  guard ! "  "Treason ! " 
"Treason!" 

The  air  was  alive  with  voices. 

Nell  ran  up  the  steps  leading  to  a  French 
window,  which  opened  upon  a  tiny  railed 
balcony.  Below,  one  story  only,  lay  a  soft 
carpet  of  greensward,  shimmering  in  the 
moonlight.  With  her  sword,  she  struck 
the  frail  sash,  which  instantly  yielded. 

[  256  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Meantime,  the  room  had  filled  with 
courtiers,  guards  and  gallants,  who  had 
rushed  in,  sword  and  spear  in  hand,  to 
guard  the  King. 

As  the  glass  shivered  and  flew  wide, 
under  the  point  of  Nell's  blade,  all  eyes 
turned  toward  her  and  all  blades  quiv 
ered  threateningly  in  the  air. 

Buckingham  was  first  to  ascend  the 
steps  in  pursuit.  He  was  disarmed  —  more 
through  the  superiority  of  Nell's  position 
than  through  the  dexterity  of  her  wrist. 

Then  for  the  first  time,  she  realized 
her  danger.  Her  eyes  staring  from  their 
sockets,  she  drew  back  from  her  murder 
ous  pursuers,  and,  in  startled  accents,  she 
knew  not  why,  screamed  in  supplication, 
with  hands  uplifted: 

"Gentlemen!  Gentlemen!" 

The  storm  was  stayed.  All  paused  to 
hear  what  the  stranger-youth  would  say. 
Would  he  apologize  or  would  he  sur 
render? 

The  suspense  was  for  but  a  second, 
though  it  seemed  an  eternity  to  Nell. 

The  open  window  was  behind. 

[  257  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


With  a  parting  glance  at  the  trem 
bling  blades,  she  turned  quickly  and  with 
reckless  daring  leaped  the  balcony. 

"T"  hell  with  ye!"  was  wafted  back 
in  a  rich  brogue  defiantly  by  the  night. 

Astonishment  and  consternation  filled 
the  room;  but  the  bird  had  flown.  Some 
said  that  the  wicked  farewell-speech  had 
been  Adair's,  and  some  said  not. 

How  it  all  happened,  no  one  could 
tell,  unless  it  was  a  miracle. 


CHAPTER    XV 


I  come,  my  love  ;  I  come. 


lonely  candle,  or  to  speak  more 
strictly  a  bit  of  one,  sputtered  in  its  silver 
socket  in  the  cosy  drawing-room;  and  a 
single  moonbeam  found  its  way  in  through 
the  draperies  of  the  window  leading  to  the 
terrace  and  to  St.  James's  Park. 

Moll  lay  upon  a  couch  asleep;  but  it 
was  a  restless  sleep. 

The  voice  of  a  town-crier  resounded 
faintly  across  the  park:  "Midnight;  and 
all  is  well." 

She  started  up  and  rubbed  her  eyes  in 
a  bewildered  way. 

"The  midnight  crier!"  she  thought; 
and  there  was  a  troubled  expression  in  her 
face.  "  I  have  been  asleep  and  the  candle  's 
nearly  out." 

She  jumped  to  her  feet  and  hastily 
lighted  two  or  three  of  its  more  substan 
tial  mates,  of  which  there  was  an  abun- 
[  259  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


dance  in  the  rich  candelabra  about  the 
room. 

A  cricket  in  a  crevice  startled  her.  She 
ran  to  the  window  and  looked  anxiously 
out  upon  the  park,  then  hastened  to  the 
door,  with  equal  anxiety,  lest  it  might 
be  unlocked.  Every  shadow  was  to  her 
feverish  fancy  a  spirit  of  evil  or  of  death. 

"I  wish  Nell  would  come,"  she 
thought.  "The  ghosts  and  skeletons 
fairly  swarm  in  this  old  house  at  mid 
night;  and  I  am  all  alone  to-night.  It's 
different  when  Nell's  about.  The  goblins 
are  afraid  of  her  merry  laugh.  Boo!  I  am 
cold  all  over.  I  am  afraid  to  stand  still, 
and  I  am  afraid  to  move." 

She  ran  again  to  the  window  and  this 
time  pulled  it  open.  The  moonlight  in 
stantly  flooded  the  room,  dimming  the 
candles  which  she  had  lighted.  She  saw 
her  shadow,  and  started  back  in  horror. 

"Some  one  glided  behind  the  old  oak 
in  the  park,"  she  cried  aloud,  for  the  com 
pany  of  her  voice.  "Oh,  oh!  Nell  will  be 
murdered !  I  begged  her  not  to  go  to  Ports 
mouth's  ball.  She  said  she  just  wanted  to 
[  260  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

peep  in  and  pay  her  respects  to  the  host 
ess.  Moll!  You  better  pray." 

She  fell  upon  her  knees  and  reverently 
lifted  her  hands  and  eyes  in  prayer. 

Something  fell  in  the  room  with  aheavy 
thud.  She  shut  her  eyes  tight  and  prayed 
harder.  The  object  of  her  fear  was  a  long 
gray  boot,  which  had  been  thrown  in  at 
the  window  and  had  fallen  harmlessly 
by  her  side.  It  was  followed  in  an  instant 
by  its  mate,  equally  harmless  yet  equally 
dreadful. 

A  jaunty  figure,  assisted  by  a  friendly 
shoulder,  then  bounded  over  the  balus 
trade  and  rested  with  a  sigh  of  relief  just 
within  the  window-opening.  It  was  Nell, 
returning  from  the  wars;  she  was  pale, 
almost  death-like.  The  evening's  excite 
ment,  her  daring  escapade  and  more  es 
pecially  its  exciting  finish  had  taken  hold 
of  her  in  earnest.  Her  dainty  little  self 
was  paying  the  penalty.  She  was  all  of  a 
tremble. 

"  Safe  home  at  last! "  she  cried  wearily. 
"  Heaven  reward  you,  Strings." 

From  below  the  terrace,  without  the 

[  261  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


window,  responded  the  fiddler,  in  sympa 
thetic,  loving  tones:  "Good  night,  Mis 
tress  Nell;  and  good  sleep." 

"  Good  night,  comrade,"  answered 
Nell,  as  she  almost  fell  into  the  room, 
calling  faintly:  "Moll!  Moll!  What  are 
you  doing,  Moll?" 

Moll  closed  her  eyes  tighter  and  prayed 
still  more  fervently. 

"  Praying  for  Nell,"  her  trembling  lips 
mechanically  replied. 

"Humph!"  cried  Nell,  half  faint 
ing,  throwing  herself  upon  the  couch. 
"There's  no  spirit  in  this  flesh  worth 
praying  for.  Some  wine,  some  wine;  and 
the  blessing  after." 

The  command  brought  Moll  to  her 
senses  and  she  realized  that  it  was  really 
Nell  who  had  entered  thus  unceremoni 
ously.  She  rushed  to  her  for  safety,  like 
a  frightened  deer  to  the  lake. 

"Nell,  dear  Nell!"  she  cried.  "You 
are  ill." 

"Wine,  wine,  I  say,"  again  fell  in  per 
emptory  tones  from  the  half-reclining 
Nell. 

[   262  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Moll  glanced  in  dismay  at  her  boot 
less  mistress:  her  garments  all  awry;  her 
sword  ill  sheathed;  her  cloak  uncaught 
from  the  shoulder  and  half  used,  petti 
coat-like,  as  a  covering  for  her  trembling 
limbs;  her  hair  dishevelled;  her  cheeks 
pale;  her  wild  eyes,  excitement-strained, 
staring  from  their  sockets. 

"You  are  wounded;  you  are  going  to 
die,"  she  cried.  "Moll  will  be  all  alone 
in  the  world  again." 

Her  hands  shook  more  than  Nell's  as 
she  filled  a  glass  half  full  of  wine  and 
passed  it  to  her  mistress. 

"To  the  brim,  girl,  to  the  brim,"  com 
manded  Nell,  reviving  at  the  prospect  of 
the  draught.  "There!" 

She  tossed  off  the  drink  in  gallant 
fashion:  "  I  tell  you,  sweetheart,  we  men 
need  lots  of  stimulating." 

"You  are  all  of  a  tremble,"  continued 
Moll. 

"  Little  wonder ! "  sighed  Nell. "  These 
braveries  are  a  trifle  chilly,  sweet  mouse. 
Boo!"  She  laughed  hysterically,  while 
Moll  closed  the  window.  "You  see,  I 

[  263  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


never  was  a  man  before,  and  I  had  all  that 
lost  time  to  make  up  —  acres  of  oats  to 
scatter  in  one  little  night.  Open  my 
throat;  I  cannot  breathe.  Take  off  my 
sword.  The  wars  are  done,  I  hope."  She 
startled  Moll,  who  was  encasing  her 
mistress's  pretty  feet  in  a  pair  of  dainty 
shoes,  with  another  wild,  hilarious  laugh. 
"  Moll,"  she  continued,  "I  was  the  gayest 
mad-cap  there.  The  sex  were  wild  for  me. 
I  knew  their  weak  points  of  attack,  lass. 
If  I  had  been  seeking  a  mate,  I  could  have 
made  my  market  of  them  all  and  started 
a  harem." 

She  seemed  to  forget  all  her  dangers 
past  in  the  recollection. 

"Wicked  girl,"  said  Moll,  pouting  re 
provingly. 

"  Oh,  I  am  a  jolly  roisterer,  little  one," 
laughed  Nell,  in  reply,  as  with  cavalier- 
strides  she  crossed  the  room.  She  threw 
herself  upon  the  table  and  proceeded  to 
boast  of  her  doings  for  Moll's  benefit, 
swinging  her  feet  meanwhile.  "  I  ran  the 
gamut.  I  had  all  the  paces  of  the  truest 
cavalier.  I  could  tread  a  measure,  swear 

[  264] 


A  Merry  "Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

like  one  from  the  wars,  crook  my  elbow, 
lie,  gamble,  fight  —  Fight?  Did  I  say 
fight?" 

She  hid  her  curly  head  in  her  hands 
and  sobbed  spasmodically. 

"  You  have  been  in  danger ! "  exclaimed 
Moll,  fearfully. 

"Danger!"  repeated  Nell,  breaking 
out  afresh.  "I  taught  the  King  a  lesson 
he  will  dream  about,  my  sweet,  though 
it  near  cost  me  my  life.  He  loves  me,  d'  ye 
hear;  he  loves  me,  pretty  one!  Dance, 
Moll,  dance — Dance,  I  say!  I  could  fly 
for  very  joy!" 

With  the  tears  still  wet  upon  her 
cheeks,  she  seized  Moll  by  both  hands 
and  whirled  the  astonished  girl  wildly 
about  the  room,  until  she  herself  reeled 
for  want  of  breath.  Then,  catching  at  a 
great  carved  oaken  chair,  she  fell  into  it 
and  cried  and  laughed  alternately. 

"Nell,  Nell,"  gasped  Moll,  as  she  too 
struggled  for  breath;  "one  minute  you 
laugh  and  then  you  cry.  Have  you  lost 
your  wits?" 

"  I  only  know,"  exulted  Nell,  "  I  made 
[  265  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


him  swear  his  love  for  Nell  to  Ports 
mouth's  face.  I  made  him  draw  his  sword 
for  Nell." 

"Great  Heavens!"  exclaimed  Moll, 
aghast.  "You  did  not  draw  yourself?  A 
sword  against  the  King  is  treason." 

"  Ods-bodikins,  I  know  not ! "  answered 
Nell.  "  I  know  not  what  I  did  or  said.  I 
was  mad,  mad!  All  I  remember  is:  there 
was  a  big  noise  —  a  million  spears  and 
blunderbusses  turned  upon  poor  me!  Gad! 
I  made  a  pretty  target,  girl." 

"A  million  spears  and  blunderbusses!" 
echoed  Moll,  her  eyes  like  saucers. 

"  An  army,  child,  an  army ! "  continued 
Nell,  in  half-frantic  accents.  "I  did  not 
stop  to  count  them.  Then,  next  I  knew, 
I  was  in  my  coach,  with  dear  old  Strings 
beside  me.  The  horses  flew.  We  alighted 
at  the  Chapel,  tiptoed  about  several  cor 
ners  to  break  the  scent;  then  I  took  off 
my  shoes  and  stole  up  the  back  way  like 
a  good  and  faithful  husband.  Oh,  I  did 
the  whole  thing  in  cavalier-style,  sweet 
heart.  But,  'twixt  us,  Moll,"  and  she  spoke 
with  a  mysterious,  confidential  air," — I 
[  266  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  'Time 

wouldn't  have  it  go  further  for  worlds 
—  Adair  is  a  coward,  a  monstrous  cow 
ard!  He  ran!" 

As  if  to  prove  the  truth  of  her  words, 
at  a  sudden,  sharp,  shrill  sound  from  the 
direction  of  the  park,  the  sad  remnant  of 
Adair  clutched  Moll  frantically ;  and  both 
girls  huddled  together  with  startled  faces 
and  bated  breaths. 

"Hark!  What  is  that?"  whispered 
Nell. 

"The  men,  perchance,  I  told  you  of," 
answered  Moll ;  "  they  've  spied  about  the 
house  for  weeks." 

"Nonsense,  you  little  goose,"  remon 
strated  Nell,  though  none  too  bravely; 
"some  of  your  ex-lovers  nailing  their 
bleeding  hearts  to  the  trees." 

"  No,  no ;  listen ! "  exclaimed  Moll,  fran 
tically,  as  the  noise  grew  louder. "  They  're 
in  the  entry." 

"In  the  entry!"  stammered  Nell;  and 
she  almost  collapsed  at  the  thought  of 
more  adventures. "  I  wish  we  were  in  bed, 
with  our  heads  under  the  sheet." 

"  Here  is  your  sword,"  said  Moll,  as  she 

[  267  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


brought  Nell  the  sharp  weapon,  held  well 
at  arm's  length  for  fear  of  it. 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  sword ! "  exclaimed  Nell, 
perking  up  —  for  an  instant  only.  "I  never 
thought  of  my  sword;  and  this  is  one  of 
the  bravest  swords  I  ever  drew.  I  am  as 
weak  as  a  woman,  Moll." 

"Take  heart,"  said  Moll,  encouraging 
her  from  the  rear,  as  Nell  brandished  the 
glittering  blade  in  the  direction  of  the 
door.  "  You  know  you  faced  an  army  to 
night." 

"True,"  replied  Nell,  her  courage  ooz 
ing  out  at  her  finger-tips,  "but  then  I  was  a 
man,  and  had  to  seem  brave,  whether  I  was 
or  no.  Who's  there?"  she  called  faintly. 
"Who's  there?  Support  me,  Moll.  Beau 
Adair  is  on  his  last  legs." 

Both  stood  listening  intently  and  trem 
bling  from  top  to  toe. 

A  score  of  rich  voices,  singing  harmo 
niously,  broke  upon  the  night. 

The  startled  expression  on  Nell's  face 
changed  instantly  to  one  of  fearless,  rogu 
ish  merriment.  She  was  her  old  self  again. 
She  tossed  the  sword  contemptuously 

268 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

upon  the  floor,  laughing  in  derision  now 
at  her  companion's  fear. 

"A  serenade!  A  serenade!"  she  cried. 
"Moll  — Why,  Moll,  whatfearedye,lass? 
Come! "  She  ran  gaily  to  the  window  and 
peeped  out.  "  Oh,  ho,  masqueraders  from 
the  moon.  Some  merry  crew,  I'll  be 
bound.  I  am  generous.  I'll  give  thee  all 
but  one,  sweet  mouse.  The  tall  knight  in 
white  for  me !  I  know  he 's  gallant,  though 
his  vizor's  down.  Marry,  he  is  their  cap 
tain,  I  trow;  and  none  but  a  captain  of 
men  shall  be  captain  of  my  little  heart." 

"  It  is  Satan  and  his  imps,"  cried  Moll, 
attempting  to  draw  Nell  from  the  win 
dow. 

"Tush,  little  one,"  laughed  Nell,  re 
provingly.  "  Satan  is  my  warmest  friend. 
Besides,  they  cannot  cross  the  moat.  The 
ramparts  are  ours.  The  draw-bridge  is  up." 

In  a  merry  mood,  she  threw  a  piece  of 
drapery,  mantle-like,  about  Adair's  shoul 
ders,  quite  hiding  them,  and,  decapitating 
a  grim  old  suit  of  armour,  placed  the  hel 
met  on  her  head.  Thus  garbed,  she  threw 
the  window  quickly  open  and  stepped 

[  269  j 


Mistress  Nell 


boldly  upon  the  ledge,  within  full  view 
of  the  band  beneath.  As  the  moonlight 
gleamed  upon  her  helmet,  one  might 
have  fancied  her  a  goodly  knight  of  yore; 
and,  indeed,  she  looked  quite  formidable. 

"Nell,  what  are  you  doing?"  called 
Moll,  wildly,  from  a  point  of  safety. 
"They  can  see  and  shoot  you." 

"  Tilly-vally,  girl,"  replied  Nell,  un 
daunted  now  that  she  could  see  that  there 
was  no  danger,  "we'll  parley  with  the 
enemy  in  true  feudal  style.  We'll  teach 
them  we  have  a  man  about  the  house.  Ho, 
there,  strangers  of  the  night  —  breakers  of 
the  King's  peace  and  the  slumbers  of  the 
righteous!  Brawlers,  knaves;  would  ye 
raise  honest  men  from  their  beds  at  such 
an  hour?  What  means  this  jargon  of  tipsy 
voices?  What  want  ye?" 

A  chorus  of  throats  without  demanded, 
in  muffled  accents:  "Drink!"  "Drink!" 
"Sack!"  "Rhenish!" 

"Do  ye  think  this  a  tavern,  knaves?" 
responded  Nell,  in  a  husky,  mannish 
voice.  "Do  ye  think  this  a  vintner's? 
There  are  no  topers  here.  Jackanapes, 

[   27°  ] 


A  Merry  T'ale  of  a  Merry  Time 

revellers;  away  with  you,  or  we'll  rouse 
the  citadel  and  train  the  guns." 

Her  retort  was  met  with  boisterous 
laughter  and  mocking  cries  of  "  Down 
with  the  doors ! "  "  Break  inthe  windows ! " 

This  was  a  move  Nell  had  not  antici 
pated.  She  jumped  from  the  ledge,  or 
rather  tumbled  into  the  room,  nervously 
dropping  her  disguise  upon  the  floor. 

"  Heaven  preserve  us,"  she  said  to  Moll, 
with  quite  another  complexion  in  her 
tone,  "they  are  coming  in!  Oh,  Moll, 
Moll,  I  did  not  think  they  would  dare." 

Moll  closed  the  sashes  and  bolted 
them,  then  hugged  Nell  close. 

"Ho,  there,  within!"  came,  in  a  gut 
tural  voice,  now  from  without  the  door. 

"  Yes  ? "  Nell  tried  to  say ;  but  the  word 
scarce  went  beyond  her  lips. 

Again  in  guttural  tones  came  a  second 
summons— "Nell!  Nell!" 

Nell  turned  to  Moll  for  support  and 
courage,  whispering : "  Some  arrant  knave 
calls  Nell  at  this  hour."  Then,  assuming 
an  attitude  of  bravery,  with  fluttering 
heart,  she  answered,  as  best  she  could, 


Mistress  Nell 


in  a  forced  voice:  "Nell's  in  bed!" 

"Yes,  Nell's  in  bed,"  echoed  the  con 
stant  Moll.  "Everybody's  in  bed.  Call 
to-morrow!" 

"  No  trifling,  wench ! "  commanded  the 
voice  without,  angrily.  "Down  with  the 
door!" 

"Stand  close,  Moll,"  entreated  Nell, 
as  she  answered  the  would-be  intruder 
with  the  question: 

"Who  are  ye?  Who  are  ye?" 

"Old  Rowley  himself!"  replied  the 
guttural  voice. 

This  was  followed  by  hoarse  laughter 
from  many  throats. 

"The  King  —  as  I  thought!"  whis 
pered  Nell.  "Good  lack;  what  shall  I  do 
with  Adair?  Plague  on't,  he'll  be  mad 
if  I  keep  him  waiting,  and  madder  if  I 
let  him  in.  Where  are  your  wits,  Moll? 
Run  for  my  gown;  fly — fly!" 

Moll  hastened  to  do  the  bidding. 

Nell  rushed  to  the  entry-door,  in  fran 
tic  agitation. 

"The  bolt  sticks,  Sire,"  she  called,  pre 
tending  to  struggle  with  the  door,  hoping 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

so  to  stay  his  Majesty  until  she  should 
have  time  to  dispose  of  poor  Adair. "  How 
can  I  get  out  of  these  braveries? "  she  then 
asked  herself,  tugging  awkwardly  at  one 
part  of  the  male  attire  and  then  at  another. 
"  I  don't  know  which  end  of  me  to  begin 
on  first." 

Moll  re-entered  the  room  with  a  bun 
dle  of  pink  in  her  arms,  which  turned 
out  to  be  a  flowing,  silken  robe,  trimmed 
with  lace. 

"  Here  is  the  first  I  found,"  she  said 
breathlessly. 

Nell  motioned  to  her  nervously  to  put 
it  upon  the  couch. 

"  Help  me  out  of  this  coat,"  she  pleaded 
woefully. 

Moll  tookofFthe  coat  and  then  assisted 
Nell  to  circumscribe  with  the  gown,  from 
heels  to  head,  her  stunning  figure,  neatly 
encased  in  Adair's  habit,  which  now  con 
sisted  only  of  a  jaunty  shirt  of  white,  gray 
breeches,  shoes  and  stockings. 

"  Marry,  I  would  I  were  a  fairy  with 
a  magic  wand;  I   could  befuddle  men's 
eyes  easier,"  Nell  lamented. 
[   273   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


The  King  knocked  again  upon  the  door 
sharply. 

"Patience,  my  liege,"  entreated  Nell, 
drawing  her  gown  close  about  her  and 
muttering  with  personal  satisfaction: 
"There,  there;  that  hides  a  multitude  of 
sins.  The  girdle,  the  girdle!  Adair  will 
not  escape  from  this  —  if  we  can  but  keep 
him  quiet;  the  rogue  has  a  woman's 
tongue,  and  it  will  out,  I  fear." 

She  snatched  up  a  mirror  and  arranged 
her  hair  as  best  she  could  in  the  dim  light, 
with  the  cries  without  resounding  in  her 
ears  and  with  Moll  dancing  anxiously 
about  her. 

"Down  with  the  door,"  threatened 
the  King,  impatiently.  "The  ram;  the 
battering  ram." 

"  I  come,  my  love;  I  come,"  cried  Nell, 
in  agitation,  fairly  running  to  the  door 
to  open  it,  but  stopping  aghast  as  her  eye 
caught  over  her  shoulder  the  sad,  tell 
tale  condition  of  the  room. 

"  'Sdeath,"  she  called  in  a  stage-whis 
per  to  Moll;  "under  the  couch  with 
Adair's  coat!  Patience,  Sire,"  she  be- 

[   274  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

sought  in  turn  the  King.  "Help  me, 
Moll.  How  this  lock  has  rusted  —  in  the 
last  few  minutes.  My  sword!"  she  con 
tinued  breathlessly  to  Moll.  "My  boots! 
My  hat!  My  cloak!" 

Moll,  in  her  efforts  to  make  the  room 
presentable,  was  rushing  hither  and 
thither,  first  throwing  Adair's  coat  be 
neath  the  couch  as  Nell  commanded  and 
firing  the  other  evidences  of  his  guilty 
presence,  one  behind  one  door  and  an 
other  behind  another. 

It  was  done. 

Nell  slipped  the  bolt  and  calmly  took 
a  stand  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  draw 
ing  her  flowing  gown  close  about  Adair's 
person.  She  was  quite  exhausted  from  the 
nervous  strain,  but  her  aclress's  art  taught 
her  the  way  to  hide  it.  Moll,  panting  for 
breath,  across  the  room,  feigned  compo 
sure  as  best  she  could. 

The  door  opened  and  in  strode  the  King 
and  his  followers. 

"  Welcome,  royal  comrades,  welcome 
all!"  said  Nell,  bowing  graciously  to  her 
untimely  visitors. 

[  2/5   ] 


CHAPTER     XVI 


)  my  own  reflection! 


U: 


PON  the  fine  face  of  the  King,  as  he 
entered  Nell's  drawing-room,  was  an  ex 
pression  of  nervous  bantering,  not  wholly 
unmixed  with  anxiety. 

The  slanderous  Adair  and  his  almost 
miraculous  escape  had  not  long  weighed 
upon  his  Majesty's  careless  nature. 

As  he  had  not  met  Adair  until  that 
night  or  even  heard  of  him,  his  heart  had 
told  him  that  the  Irish  roisterer  could 
scarcely  be  a  serious  obstacle  in  the  way  of 
Nell's  perfect  faith,  if,  indeed,  he  had  met 
Nell  at  all,  which  he  doubted.  His  com 
mand  to  the  guard  to  follow  and  overtake 
the  youth  had  been  more  the  command 
of  the  ruler  than  of  the  man.  Despite  him 
self,  there  had  been  something  about  the 
dainty  peacock  he  could  not  help  but  like; 
and  the  bold  dash  for  the  window,  the  dis 
arming  of  the  purse-proud  Buckingham, 

[  276  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

who  for  many  reasons  displeased  him,  and 
the  leap  to  the  sward  below,  with  the  ac 
companying  farewell,  had  especially  de 
lighted  both  his  manhood  and  his  sense 
of  humour. 

He  had,  therefore,  dismissed  Adair  from 
his  mind,  except  as  a  possible  subje6t  to 
banter  Nell  withal,  or  as  a  culprit  to  pun 
ish,  if  overtaken. 

His  restless  spirit  had  chafed  under  the 
Duchess's  lavish  entertainment — for  the 
best  entertainment  is  dull  to  the  lover 
whose  sweetheart  is  absent — and  he  had 
turned  instinctively  from  the  ball  to  Nell's 
terrace,  regardless  of  the  hour  and  scarce 
noticing  his  constant  attendants. 

The  night  was  so  beautiful  that  their 
souls  had  found  vent  in  song. 

This  serenade,  however,  had  brought 
to  Nell's  window  a  wide-awake  fellow, 
who  had  revealed  himself  in  saucy  talk; 
and  the  delighted  cavaliers,  in  hope  of 
fun,  had  charged  jeeringly  that  they  had 
outwitted  the  guard  and  had  found  Adair. 

It  was  this  that  had  brought  the  anxious 
look  to  the  King's  face;  and,  though  his 
[  277  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


better  judgment  was  still  unchanged,  the 
sight  of  the  knave  at  the  window,  to 
gether  with  the  suggestions  of  his  merry 
followers,  had  cast  a  shadow  of  doubt  for 
the  moment  upon  his  soul,  and  he  had  re 
flected  that  there  was  much  that  the  Irish 
youth  had  said  that  could  not  be  recon 
ciled  with  that  better  judgment. 

With  a  careless  shrug,  he  had,  there 
fore,  taken  up  the  jest  of  his  lawless  crew, 
which  coincided  with  his  own  intended 
purpose,  and  had  sworn  that  he  would 
turn  the  household  out  of  bed  without 
regard  to  pretty  protests  or  formality  of 
warrant.  He  would  raise  the  question 
forthwith,  in  jest  and  earnest,  and  worry 
Nell  about  the  boaster. 

"Scurvy  entertainment,"  he  began, 
with  frowning  brow. 

"Yea,  my  liege,"  explained  Nell,  win- 
somely;  "you  see  —  I  did  not  expect  the 
King  so  late,  and  so  was  unpresentable." 

"  It  is  the  one  you  do  not  expe6t,"  re 
plied  Charles,  dryly,  "who  always  causes 
the  trouble,  Nell." 

"  We  were  in  bed,  Sire,"  threw  in  Moll, 

[  278  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

thinking  to  come  to  the  rescue  of  her 
mistress. 

"Marry,  truly,"  said  Nell,  catching  at 
the  cue, " — asleep,  Sire,  sound  asleep ;  and 
our  prayers  said." 

"Tilly-vally,"  exclaimed  the  King, 
"we  might  credit  thy  tongue,  wench,  but 
for  the  prayers.  No  digressions,  spider 
Nell.  My  sword  is  in  a  fighting  mood. 
'Sdeath,  call  forth  the  knight-errant  who 
holds  thy  errant  heart  secure  for  one  short 
hour!" 

"  The  knight  of  my  heart ! "  cried  Nell. 
"Ah,  Sire,  you  know  his  name." 

She  looked  at  his  Majesty  with  eyes  of 
unfailing  love;  but  the  King  was  true  to 
his  jest. 

"Yea,  marry,  I  do/'  laughed  Charles, 
tauntingly,  with  a  wink  at  his  compan 
ions;  "a  pretty  piece  of  heraldry,  a  bold 
escutcheon,  a  dainty  poniard — pale  as  a 
lily,  and  how  he  did  sigh  and  drop  his 
lids  and  smirk  and  smirk  and  dance  your 
latest  galliard  to  surpass  De  Grammont. 
Ask  brother  James  how  he  did  dance." 

"Nay,   Sire,"   hastily  interceded   the 

[   279   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


ever-gallant  Rochester, "his  Highness  of 
York  has  suffered  enough." 

York  frowned  at  the  reference;  for  he 
had  been  robbed  of  his  lady  at  the  dance 
by  Adair.  He  could  not  forget  that.  Heed 
less  of  his  royalty,  bestowed  by  man,  she, 
like  the  others,  had  followed  in  the  train 
of  the  Irish  spark,  who  was  royal  only  by 
nature. 

"Hang  the  coxcomb!"  he  snarled. 

"'Slife,  I  will,"  replied  Charles,  slyly, 
"an  you  overtake  him,  brother." 

"  His  back  was  shapely,  Sire,"  observed 
Rochester,  with  quaint  humour. 

"Yea,  and  his  heels!"  cried  the  King, 
reflectively.  "He  had  such  dainty  heels 
—  Mercury's  wings  attached,  to  waft  him 
on  his  way." 

"This  is  moonshine  madness!"  ex 
claimed  Nell,  with  the  blandest  of  bland 
smiles.  "There's  none  such  here.  By  my 
troth,  I  would  there  were.  Nay,  ask 
Moll." 

Moll  did  not  wait  to  be  asked. 

"  Not  one  visitor  to-night,"  she  asserted 
promptly. 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry 


"Odso!"  cried  Charles,  in  a  mocking 
tone.  "Whence  came  the  Jack  at  the 
window  —  the  brave  young  challenger  _ 
'Would  ye  raise  honest  men  from  their 
beds  at  such  an  hour?" 

A  burst  of  laughter  followed  the  King's 
grave  imitation  of  the  window-boaster. 

"  Sire  !  "  sighed  Rochester,  in  like  spirit. 
"'Do  you  think  this  a  vintner's?  There 
are  no  topers  here." 

Another  burst  ofmerry  laughter  greeted 
the  speaker,  as  he  puncluated  his  words 
by  catching  up  the  wine-cups  from  the 
table  and  clinking  them  gaily. 

Nell's  face  was  as  solemn  as  a  funeral. 

"To  your  knees,  minx,"  commanded 
James,  grimly,  "and  crave  mercy  of  your 
prince." 

"Faith  and  troth,"  pleaded  Nell,  seri 
ously,  "'twas  I  myself  with  helmet  and 
mantle  on.  You  see,  Sire,  my  menials  were 
guests  at  Portsmouth's  ball  —  to  lend  re 
spectability." 

"  Saucy  wag,"  cried  the  Merry  Mon 
arch.  "A  ball?  —  A  battle  —  which  would 
have  killed  thee  straight!  " 

[  281  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"  It  had  liked  to,"  reflected  Nell,  as  she 
tartly  replied:  "A  war  of  the  sex  with 
out  me?  It  was  stupid,  then.  The  Duch 
ess  missed  me,  I  trow." 

"  Never  fear,"  answered  Charles,  with 
difficulty  suppressing  his  mirth;  "you 
were  bravely  championed." 

"I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  Nell,  slyly; 
"my  King  was  there." 

"And  a  bantam  cock,"  ejaculated 
Charles,  sarcastically,  "upon  whose  lips 
4  Nell '  hung  familiarly." 

"Some  strange  gallant,"  cried  Nell, 
in  ecstasy,  "took  my  part  before  them 
all?  Who  was  he,  Sire?  Don't  tantalize 
me  so." 

She  smiled,  half  serious,  half  humor 
ous,  as  she  pleaded  in  her  charming  way. 

"A  chip  from  the  Blarney  Stone,"  ob 
served  the  King  at  length,  ironically, 
"surnamed  Adair!" 

"Adair!  Adair!"  cried  Nell,  to  the 
astonishment  of  all.  "  We  spent  our  youth 
together.  I  see  him  in  my  mind's  eye, 
Sire,  throw  down  the  gauntlet  in  Nell's 
name  and  defy  the  world  for  her.  Fill  the 

[  282  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

cups.  We'll  drink  to  my  new-found  hero! 
Fill !  Fill !  To  Beau  Adair,  as  you  love  me, 
gallants!  Long  life  to  Adair!" 

The  cups  were  filled  to  overflowing 
and  trembled  on  eager  lips  in  response 
to  the  hostess's  merry  toast. 

"  Stay ! "  commanded  the  King,  in  per 
emptory  tones. "  Not  a  drop  to  a  coward ! " 

"  A  coward !"  cried  Nell,  aghast.  "Adair 
a  coward?  I'll  never  credit  it,  Sire!" 

She  turned  away,  lest  she  reveal  her 
merriment,  as  she  bethought  her:  "He 
is  trembling  in  my  boots  now.  I  can  feel 
him  shake." 

"Our  pledge  is  Nell,  Nell  only!"  ex 
claimed  the  King,  his  cup  high  in  air. 

With  one  accord,  the  gallants  eagerly 
took  up  the  royal  pledge.  "Aye,  aye, 
Nell!"  "Nell!"  "We'll  drink  to  Nell!" 

"  You  do  me  honour,  royal  gentlemen," 
bowed  Nell,  well  pleased  at  the  King's 
toast. 

She  had  scarce  touched  the  cup  to  her 
lips,  however,  with  a  mental  chuckle, 
"Poor  Adair!  Here's  a  health  to  the  in 
ner  man!  "  when  her  eye  fell  upon  one  of 

[  283  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


Adair's  gray  boots,  which  Moll  had  failed 
to  hide,  in  her  excitement,  now  revealing 
itself  quite  plainly  in  the  light  of  the 
many  candles.  She  caught  it  adroitly  on 
the  tip  of  her  toe  and  sent  it  whizzing 
through  the  air  in  the  direction  of  poor 
Moll,  who,  fortunately,  caught  it  in  mid 
air  and  hid  it  quickly  beneath  her  apron. 

The  King  turned  at  the  sound;  but 
Nell's  face  was  as  woefully  unconcerned 
as  a  church-warden's  at  his  hundredth 
burial. 

The  wine  added  further  zest  to  the 
merry-making  and  the  desire  for  sport. 

"Now,  fair  huswife,"  continued 
Charles,  his  thoughts  reverting  to  Adair, 
"set  forth  the  dish,  that  we  may  carve  it 
to  our  liking.  'Tis  a  dainty  bit,  —  lace, 
velvet  and  ruffles." 

"  Heyday,  Sire,"  responded  Nell,  eva 
sively,  "the  larder's  empty." 

"Devil  on't,"  cried  Charles,  fero 
ciously;"  no  mincing,  wench.  In  the  con 
fusion  of  the  ball,  the  bird  escaped  my 
guard  by  magic.  We  know  whither  the 
flight." 

[  284] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

The  King  assumed  a  knowing  look. 

"Escaped  the  guard?"  gasped  Nell,  in 
great  surprise.  "  Alas,  I  trow  some  petti 
coat  has  hid  him  then." 

"I'll  stake  my  life  upon't,"  observed 
James,  who  had  not  been  heard  from  in 
some  time  but  who  had  been  observing 
the  scene  with  decorous  dignity. 

"Sire,  you  would  not  injure  Adair," 
pleaded  Nell,  now  alert,  with  all  her  arts 
of  fascination.  "You  are  too  generous. 
Blue  eyes  of  heaven,  and  such  a  smile! 
Did  you  mark  that  young  Irishman's 
smile,  Sire?" 

Her  impudence  was  so  bewitching  that 
the  King  scarce  knew  whether  it  were 
jest  or  earnest.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  from 
the  couch,  where  he  had  thrown  himself 
after  the  toast  to  Nell,  and,  with  some 
forcefulness,  exclaimed: 

"Odsfish,  this  to  my  teeth,  rogue! 
Guard  the  doors,  gallants;  we'd  gaze 
upon  this  paragon." 

"And  set  him  pirouetting,  Sire,"  sar 
donically  suggested  James. 

"  Yea,  to  the  tune  of  these  fiddle-sticks," 

[  285  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


laughed  Charles,  as  he  unsheathed  his  ra 
pier.  "  Search  from  tile  to  rafter." 

"Aye,  aye,"  echoed  the  omnipresent 
Rochester,  "from  cellar  to  garret." 

Before,  however,  the  command  could 
be  obeyed,  even  in  resolution,  Nell 
moved  uneasily  to  a  curtain  which  hung 
in  the  corner  of  the  room  and  placed  her 
self  before  it,  as  if  to  shield  a  hidden  man. 

"  Sire,"  she  pleaded  fearfully,  "  spare 
him,  Sire;  for  my  sake,  Sire.  He  is  not  to 
blame  for  loving  me.  He  cannot  help  it. 
You  know  that,  Sire!" 

"Can  he  really  be  here?"  muttered 
Charles,  with  clouding  visage.  "  Saucy 
wench!  Hey!  My  blood  is  charging  full- 
tilt  through  my  veins.  Odsfish,  we'll  try 
his  mettle  once  again." 

"Prythee,  Sire,"  begged  Nell,  "he  is 
too  noble  and  brave  and  handsome  to  die. 
I  love  his  very  image." 

"Oh,  ho!"  cried  Charles.  "A  silken 
blind  for  the  silken  bird !  Hey,  St.  George 
for  merry  England!  Come  forth,  thou 
picture  of  cowardice,  thou  vile  slanderer." 

He  grasped  Nell  by  the  wrist  and  fairly 

[  286  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

dragged  her  across  the  room.  Then,  rush 
ing  to  the  curtain,  he  seized  its  silken 
folds  and  tore  it  completely  from  its  hang 
ings —  only  to  face  himself  in  a  large  mir 
ror.  "  Ods-pitikins,  my  own  reflection ! "  he 
exclaimed,  with  menacing  tone,  though 
there  was  relief  as  well  in  his  voice.  He 
bent  the  point  of  his  blade  against  the 
floor,  gazed  at  himself  in  the  pier-glass 
and  looked  over  his  shoulder  at  Nell,  who 
stood  in  the  midst  of  his  courtiers,  split 
ting  her  sides  with  laughter,  undignified 
but  honest. 

"Rogue,  rogue,"  he  cried,  "I  should 
turn  the  point  on  thee  for  this  trick;  but 
England  would  be  worse  than  a  Puritan 
funeral  with  no  Nell.  Thou  shalt  suffer 
anon." 

"  I  defy  thee,  Sire,  and  all  thy  imps  of 
Satan,"  laughed  the  vixen,  as  she  watched 
the  King  sheathe  his  jewelled  sword. 
"Cast  Nell  in  the  blackest  dungeon, 
Adair  is  her  fellow-prisoner;  outlaw  Nell, 
Adair  is  her  brother  outlaw;  off  with 
Nell's  head,  off  rolls  Adair's.  Who  else 
can  boast  so  true  a  love!" 

[  287  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"Thou  shalt  be  banished  the  realm," 
decided  the  King,  jestingly;  for  he  was 
now  convinced  that  her  Adair  was  but 
a  jest  to  tease  him — a  Roland  for  his 
Oliver. 

"Banished!"  cried  Nell,  with  bated 
breath. 

"Aye;  beyond  sea,  witch!"  answered 
the  King,  with  pompous  austerity.  "Vir 
ginia  shall  be  thy  home." 

"Good,  good!"  laughed  Nell,  gaily. 
"  Sire,  the  men  grow  handsome  in  Vir 
ginia,  and  dauntless;  and  they  tell  me 
there  are  a  dearth  of  women  there.  Oh, 
banish  me  at  once  to  — What 's  the  name? " 

"Jamestown,"  suggested  York,  recall 
ing  the  one  name  because  of  its  familiar 
sound. 

"Yea,  brother  James,"  said  Nell,  fear 
lessly  mimicking  his  brusque  accent, 
"Jamestown." 

"Savages,  wild  men,  cannibals," 
scowled  Charles. 

"Cannibals!"  cried  Nell.  "Marry,  I 
should  love  to  be  a  cannibal.  Are  there 
cannibals  in  Jamestown,  brother  James? 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Banish  me,  Sire;  banish  me  to  James 
town  of  all  places.  Up  with  the  sails,  my 
merry  men;  give  me  the  helm!  Adair 
will  sail  in  the  same  good  ship,  I  trow." 

"  Adair !  I  trow  thou  wert  best  at  home, 
cannibal  Nelly,"  determined  the  King. 

"Then  set  all  the  men  in  Britain  to 
watch  me,  Sire,"  said  Nell;  "for,  from 
now  on,  I  '11  need  it." 

The  King  shook  his  finger  warningly 
at  her,  then  leaned  carelessly  against  the 
window. 

"  Ho  there ! "  he  cried  out  suddenly. "  A 
night  disturbance,  a  drunken  brawl,  be 
neath  our  very  ears!  Fellow-saints,  what 
mean  my  subjects  from  their  beds  this 
hour  of  night?  Their  sovereign  does  the 
revelling  for  the  realm.  James,  Rochester 
and  all,  see  to't!" 


CHAPTER     XVII 


The  day  will  be  so  happy  ;  for  Pve  seen  you  at  the  dawn. 

JL.  HE  room  was  quickly  cleared,  the 
King's  courtiers  jostling  one  another  in 
their  efforts  to  carry  out  the  royal  bid 
ding. 

Charles  turned  with  a  merry  laugh  and 
seized  Nell  in  his  arms  almost  fiercely. 

"A  subterfuge!"  he  cried  eagerly. 
"Nell,  quick;  one  kiss!" 

"Nay;  you  question  my  constancy  to 
night,"  said  Nell,  sadly,  as  she  looked  into 
his  eyes,  with  the  look  of  perfect  love. 
"You  do  not  trust  me." 

"  I  do,  sweet  Nell,"  protested  the  King, 
earnestly. 

"You  bring  me  Portsmouth's  lips," 
said  Nell,  with  sad  reproof. 

"  I  left  her  dance  for  you,"  replied  the 
King,  drawing  her  closer  to  him. 

"At  near  sunrise,  Sire,"  sighed  Nell, 
reprovingly,  as  she  drew  back  the  curtain 
[  290  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

and  revealed  the  first  gray  streaks  of  the 
breaking  light  of  day. 

"  Nay,  do  not  tantalize  me,  Nell,"  be 
sought  the  King,  throwing  himself  upon 
the  couch.  "I  am  sad  to-night." 

The  woman's  forgiving  heart  was 
touched  with  sympathy.  Her  eyes  sought 
his  sadly  beautiful  face.  She  ran  to  him, 
fell  upon  her  knees  and  kissed  his  hand 
tenderly. 

"  Tantalize  my  King ! "  she  cried. "  The 
day  will  be  so  happy;  for  I've  seen  you 
at  the  dawn. "There  was  all  the  emotional 
fervour  and  pathetic  tenderness  which  the 
great  composer  has  compressed  into  the 
love-music  of  "Tristan  and  Isolde  "in  her 
voice. 

"  My  crown  is  heavy,  Nell,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  Heaven  gives  us  crowns,  but 
not  the  eye  to  see  the  ending  of  our 
deeds." 

"  God  sees  them,"  said  Nell.  "Ah,  Sire, 
I  thank  the  Maker  of  the  world  for  giv 
ing  a  crown  to  one  whom  I  respect  and 
love." 

"  And  I  curse  it,"  cried  the  King,  with 


Mistress  Nell 


earnest  eyes;  "for  'tis  the  only  barrier 
to  our  united  love.  It  is  the  sparkling 
spider  in  the  centre  of  a  great  web  of  in 
trigue  and  infamy." 

"You  make  me  bold  to  speak.  Cut 
the  web,  Sire,  which  binds  thy  crown  to 
France.  There  is  the  only  danger." 

"Thou  art  wrong,  Nelly, wrong!"  He 
spoke  in  deep,  firm  accents.  "  I  have  de 
cided  otherwise." 

He  rose  abruptly,  his  brow  clouded 
with  thought.  She  took  his  hand  tenderly. 

"Then,  change  your  mind,  Sire,"  she 
pleaded;  "for  I  can  prove  — " 

"What,  girl?"  he  asked  eagerly,  his 
curiosity  awakened  by  her  manner. 

Nell  did  not  respond.  To  continue 
would  reveal  Adair,  and  she  could  not 
think  of  that. 

"What,  I  say?"  again  asked  Charles, 
impatiently. 

"  To-morrow,  Sire,"  laughed  Nell,  eva 
sively. 

"Aye,  to-morrow  and  to-morrow!" 
petulantly  repeated  the  King. 

He  was  about  to  demand  a  direcl  re- 
[  292  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

ply  but  was  stayed  by  the  sound  of  a  strug 
gle  without. 

It  befell  in  the  nick  of  time  for  Nell, 
as  all  things,  indeed,  in  life  seemed  to 
befall  in  the  nick  of  time  for  her.  The 
impious  huswives  shook  their  heads  and 
attributed  it  to  the  evil  influence;  the 
pious  huswives  asserted  it  was  providen 
tial;  Nell  herself  laughingly  declared  it 
was  her  lucky  star. 

"Ho,  without  there!"  Charles  cried, 
impatiently — almost  angrily  —  at  the  in 
terruption.  "Whence  comes  this  noisy 
riot?" 

James,  Rochester  and  the  others  un 
ceremoniously  re-entered. 

"Pardon,  Sire,"  explained  the  Duke 
of  York;  "the  guard  caught  but  now  an 
armed  ruffian  prowling  by  the  house. 
They  report  they  stayed  him  on  suspi 
cion  of  his  looks  and  insolence." 

"Adair!  Adair!  My  life  upon't!" 
laughed  the  King,  ever  ready  for  sport. 
"  Set  him  before  us." 

An  officer  ofthe  guard  departedquickly 
to  bring  in  the  offender.  The  courtiers 
[  293  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


took  up  the  King's  cry  most  readily;  and 
there  was  a  general  cackle  of  "Adair!" 
"Adah-!"  "A  trial!"  "Sire!"  "Bring  in 
the  coward!" 

Nell  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  scene, 
the  picture  of  demure  innocence. 

"They've  caught  Adair!"  she  whis 
pered  to  Moll,  mischievously. 

"Aye,  gallants,"  cried  the  Merry  Mon 
arch,  approvingly,  "we'll  form  a  Court 
of  Inquiry.  This  table  shall  be  our  bench, 
on  which  we'll  hem  and  haw  and  puff 
and  look  judicial.  Odsfish,  we  will  teach 
Radamanthus  and  Judge  Jeffreys  ways  of 
terrorizing." 

He  sprang  upon  the  table,  which 
creaked  somewhat  beneath  the  royal  bur 
den,  and  assumed  the  austere,  frowning 
brow  of  worldly  justice. 

"  Oyer,  oyer,  all  ye  who  have  griev 
ances —  "cried  the  garrulous  Rochester 
in  the  husky  tones  of  the  crier,  who  most 
generally  assumes  that  he  is  the  whole 
court  and  oftentimes  should  be. 

"  Mistress  Nell,"  commanded  the  royal 
judge,  summoning  Nell  to  the  bar, "  thou 

[   294  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

shalt  be  counsel  for  the  prisoner;  Adair's 
life  hangs  upon  thy  skill  to  outwit  the 
law." 

"Or  bribe  the  judge,  Sire?"  suggested 
Nell,  demurely. 

"Not  with  thy  traitor  lips,"  retorted 
Charles,  with  the  injured  dignity  of  a 
petty  justice  about  to  commit  a  flash  of 
true  wit  for  contempt  of  court. 

"Traitor  lips?"  cried  Nell,  sadly.  "By 
my  troth,  I  never  kissed  Adair.  I  con 
fess,  I  tried,  your  Majesty;  but  I  could 
not." 

"  Have  a  care,"  replied  the  King,  in  a 
tone  which  indicated  that  the  fires  of  sus 
picion  still  smouldered  in  his  breast;  "I 
am  growing  jealous." 

Nell  fell  upon  one  knee  and  stretched 
forth  her  arms  suppliantly. 

"Adair  is  in  such  a  tight  place,  Sire, 
he  can  scarcely  breathe,"  she  pleaded,  with 
the  zeal  of  a  barrister  hard-working  for 
his  first  fee  in  her  voice, "  much  less  speak 
for  himself.  Mercy!" 

"  We  will  have  justice;  not  mercy,"  re 
plied  the  court,  with  a  sly  wink  at  Roch- 

[   295   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


ester.  "Guilty  or  not  guilty,  wench?" 

"Not  guilty,  Sire!  Did  you  ever  see 
the  man  who  was?" 

The  King  laughed  despite  himself,  fol 
lowed  by  his  ever-aping  courtiers. 

"  I  '11  plead  for  the  Crown,"  asserted  the 
grim  James,  with  great  vehemence,  "to 
rid  the  realm  of  this  dancing-Jack." 

"Thou  hast  cause,  brother,"  laughed 
the  King.  "Rochester,  thou  shalt  sit  by 
us  here." 

Rochester  sprang,  with  a  contented 
chuckle,  into  a  chair  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  table  to  that  upon  which  his 
Majesty  was  holding  his  mock-court  and 
seated  himself  upon  its  high  back,  so 
poised  as  not  to  fall.  From  this  lofty 
bench,  with  a  queer  gurgle,  to  say  noth 
ing  of  a  swelling  of  the  chest,  and  with 
an  approving  glance  from  his  Majesty, 
he  added  his  mite  to  the  all-inspiring 
dignity  of  the  revellers'  court. 

"Judge  Rochester!"  continued  the 
King,  slapping  him  with  his  glove,  across 
the  table.  "Judge  —  of  good  ale.  We'll 
confer  with  the  cups,  imbibe  the  statutes 

[  296  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

and  drink  in  the  law.  Set  the  rascal  before 
us." 

In  obedience  to  the  command,  a  man 
well  muffled  with  a  cloak  was  forced  into 
the  room,  a  guard  at  either  arm. 

Behind  them,  taking  advantage  of  the 
open  door  to  appease  their  curiosity, 
crowded  many  hangers-on  of  courtdom, 
among  whom  was  Strings,  who  had  met 
the  revellers  some  distance  from  the  house 
and  had  returned  with  them. 

"  Hold  off  your  hands,  knaves,"  com 
manded  the  prisoner,  who  was  none  other 
than  Hart,  the  player,  indignant  at  the 
detention. 

"Silence,  rogue!"  commanded  the 
King.  "Thy  name?" 

"Sire!"  cried  Hart,  throwing  off  his 
mantle  and  glancing  for  the  first  time  at 
the  judge's  face.  He  sank  immediately 
upon  one  knee,  bowing  respectfully. 

"Jack  Hart ! "  cried  one  and  all,  craning 
their  necks  in  surprise  and  expectation. 

"'Slife,  a  spy  upon  our  merry-mak 
ing!"  exclaimed  the  displeased  monarch. 
"What  means  this  prowling,  sir?" 
•       [  297  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"  Pardon,  pardon,  my  reply,  your  Maj 
esty,"  humbly  importuned  the  player. 
"  Blinded  by  passion,  I  might  say  that  I 
should  regret." 

"  Your  strange  behaviour  and  stranger 
looks  have  meaning,  sir,"  cried  the  King, 
impatiently.  "Out  with  it!  These  are 
too  dangerous  times  to  withhold  your 
thoughts  from  your  King." 

"No  need  for  commands,  Sire,"  en 
treated  Hart.  "The  words  are  trembling 
on  my  lips  and  will  out  themselves  in  spite 
of  me.  At  Portsmouth's  ball,  an  hour  past, 
I  o'erheard  that  fop  Adair  boast  to-night 
a  midnight  rendezvous  here  with  Nell." 

Nell  placed  her  hands  upon  her  heart. 

"This  —  my  old  friend,"  she  reflected 
sadly. 

"Our  jest  turned  earnest,"  cried 
Charles.  "Well?  Well?"  he  questioned, 
in  peremptory  tones. 

"  I  could  not  believe  my  ears,  Sire,"  the 
prisoner  continued,  faltering.  "  I  watched 
to  refute  the  lie  —  " 

"Yes  —  yes  —  "  exhorted  the  King,  in 
expectation. 

[  298  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"I  cannot  go  on." 

"Knave,  I  command!" 

"  I  saw  Adair  enter  this  abode  at  mid 
night."  Hart's  head  fell,  full  of  shame, 
upon  his  breast. 

"'Sblood,"  muttered  the  King,  scarce 
mindful  that  his  words  might  be  audi 
ble  to  those  about  him,  "my  heart  stands 
still  as  if 't  were  knifed.  My  pretty  golden- 
head,  my  bonnie  Nell !"  He  turned  sharply 
toward  the  player.  "Your  words  are  false, 
false,  sir!  Kind  Heaven,  they  must  be." 

"  Pardon,  Sire,"  pleaded  Hart ; "  I  know 
not  what  I  do  or  say.  Only  love  for  Nell 
led  me  to  this  spot." 

"  Love ! "  cried  Nell,  with  the  irony  of 
sadness.  "Oh,  inhuman,  to  spy  out  my 
ways,  resort  to  mean  device,  involve  my 
honour,  and  call  the  motive  love!" 

"You  are  cruel,  cruel,  Nell,"  sobbed 
Hart;  and  he  turned  away  his  eyes.  He 
could  not  look  at  her. 

"Love!"  continued  Nell,  bitterly. 
"True  love  would  come  alone,  filled 
with  gentle  admonition.  I  pity  you,  friend 
Hart,  that  God  has  made  you  thus!" 

[   299   ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"  No  more,  no  more ! "  Hart  quite  broke 
beneath  the  strain. 

"Dost  hear,  dost  hear?"  cried  Charles, 
in  ecstasy,  deeply  affected  by  Nell's  ex 
position  of  true  love.  "  Sir,  you  are  the 
second  to-night  to  belie  the  dearest  name 
in  England.  You  shall  answer  well  to  me." 

"Ask  the  lady,  Sire,"  pleaded  Hart,  in 
desperation.  "I'll  stake  my  life  upon  her 
reply." 

"  Nell? — Nell? "  questioned  the  King; 
for  he  could  scarce  refuse  to  accept  her 
word  when  a  player  had  placed  unques 
tioned  faith  in  it. 

Nell  hid  her  face  in  her  silken  kerchief 
and  burst  into  seeming  spasmodic  sobs 
of  grief.  "  Sire! "  was  all  the  response  the 
King  could  hear.  He  trembled  violently 
and  his  face  grew  white.  He  did  not  know 
that  Nell's  tears  were  merry  laughs. 

"  Her  tears  convicl:  her,"  exclaimed 
Hart,  triumphantly. 

"  I  '11  not  believe  it,"  cried  the  King. 

Nell  became  more  hysterical.  She 
sobbed  and  sobbed,  as  though  her  heart 
would  break,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands 

[   3°°  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

and  her  flying  curls  falling  over  and 
hiding  all. 

"Adair's  sides  are  aching,"  she  chuc 
kled,  in  apparent  convulsions  of  sorrow. 
"He's  laughing  through  Nell's  tears." 

Meanwhile,  Moll  had  been  standing  by 
the  window;  and,  though  she  was  watch 
ing  eagerly  the  exciting  scene  within  the 
room,  she  could  not  fail  to  note  the  sound 
of  galloping  horses  and  the  rattling  of  a 
heavy  coach  on  the  roadway  without. 

"  A  coach  and  six  at  break-neck  speed," 
she  cried,  "have  landed  at  the  door.  A 
cavalier  alights." 

"Time  some  one  arrived,"  thought 
Nell,  as  she  glanced  at  herself  in  the 
mirror,  to  see  that  Adair  was  well  hidden, 
and  to  arrange  her  curls,  to  bewitch  the 
new  arrivals,  whosoever  they  might  be. 

As  the  cavalier  dashed  up  the  path,  in 
the  moonlight,  Moll  recognized  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham,  and  at  once  announced 
his  name. 

"Ods-pitikins!"  exclaimed  Charles, 
angrily.  "No  leisure  for  Buckingham 
now.  We  have  other  business." 

[   301    1 


Mistress  Nell 


He  had  scarce  spoken,  however,  when 
Buckingham,  unceremoniously  and  al 
most  breathless,  entered  the  room. 

"  How  now? "  cried  the  King,  fiercely, 
as  the  Duke  fell  on  his  knee  before  him; 
for  his  temper  had  been  wrought  to  a 
high  pitch. 

"Pardon,  your  Majesty,"  besought  his 
lordship,  in  nervous  accents.  "My  mis 
sion  will  excuse  my  haste  and  interrup 
tion.  Your  ear  I  crave  one  moment.  Sire, 
I  am  told  Nell  has  to-night  secreted  in 
this  house  a  lover!" 

"Another  one!"  whispered  Nell  to 
Moll. 

"'Tis  hearsay,"  cried  the  King,  now 
at  fever-heat,  "the  give-and-take  of  gos 
sips!  I'll  none  of  it." 

"My  witness,  Sire!"  answered  Buck 
ingham. 

He  turned  toward  the  door;  and  there, 
to  the  astonishment  of  all,  stood  the  Duch 
ess  of  Portsmouth,  who  had  followed  him 
from  the  coach,  a  lace  mantilla,  caught 
up  in  her  excitement,  protecting  her 
shapely  shoulders  and  head. 

[  3°2  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  'Time 

As  the  assembled  courtiers  looked  upon 
the  beautiful  rivals,  standing,  as  they  did, 
face  to  face  before  the  King,  and  realized 
the  situation,  their  faces  grew  grave,  in 
deed. 

The  suspense  became  intense. 

"The  day  of  reckoning's  come," 
thought  Nell,  as  she  met  with  burning 
glances  the  Duchess's  eyes. 

"  Speak,  your  grace,"  exhorted  Buck 
ingham.  "The  King  attends  you." 

"Nay,  before  all,  my  lord?"  protested 
Portsmouth,  with  pretended  delicacy. 
"  I  could  not  do  Madame  Gwyn  so  much 
injustice." 

"If  your  speech  concerns  me,"  ob 
served  Nell,  mildly,  "out  with  it  boldly. 
My  friends  will  consider  the  source." 

"Speak,  and  quickly!"  commanded 
Charles. 

"  I  would  rather  lose  my  tongue,"  still 
protested  the  Duchess,  "than  speak  such 
words  of  any  one;  but  my  duty  to  your 
Majesty  —  " 

"No  preludes,"  interrupted  the  King; 
and  he  meant  it,  too.  He  was  done  with 

[  3°3  1 


Mistress  Nell 


trifling,  and  the  Duchess  saw  it. 

"My  servants,"  she  said,  with  a  vir 
tuous  look, "  passing  this  abode  by  chance, 
this  very  night,  saw  at  a  questionable  hour 
a  strange  cavalier  entering  the  boudoir  of 
Madame  Gwyn!" 

"  She  would  make  my  honour  the  price 
of  her  revenge,"  thought  Nell,  her  eyes 
flashing.  "She  shall  rue  those  words,  or 
Adair's  head  and  mine  are  one  for  naught." 

"What  say  you  to  this,  Nell?"  asked 
the  King,  the  words  choking  in  his  throat. 

"  Sire,  —  I  —  I  —  "  answered  Nell,  eva 
sively.  "There's  some  mistake  or  knav 
ery!" 

"  She  hesitates,"  interpolated  the  Duch 
ess,  eagerly. 

"You  change  colour,  wench,"  cried 
Charles,  his  heart,  indeed,  again  upon  the 
rack.  "Ho,  without  there!  Search  the 
house." 

An  officer  entered  quickly  to  obey 
the  mandate. 

"Stay,  Sire,"  exclaimed  Nell,  raising 
herself  to  her  full  height,  her  hot,  trem 
bling  lips  compressed,  her  cheeks  aflame. 

[  3°4  ] 


A  Merry  Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

"  My  oath,  I  have  not  seen  Adair's  face 
this  night." 

Her  words  fell  upon  the  assemblage 
like  thunder  from  a  June-day  sky.  The 
King's  face  brightened.  The  Duchess's 
countenance  grew  pale  as  death. 

" Mon  Dieul  Adair!"  she  gasped  in 
startled  accents  to  Lord  Buckingham, 
attendant  at  her  side.  "Could  it  be  he 
my  servants  saw?  The  packet !  Fool !  Why 
did  I  give  it  him?" 

Buckingham  trembled  violently.  He 
was  even  more  startled  than  Portsmouth; 
for  he  had  more  to  lose.  England  was  his 
home  and  France  was  hers. 

"The  scales  are  turning  against  us,"  he 
whispered.  "Throw  in  this  ring  for  safety. 
Nell's  gift  to  Adair;  you  understand." 

He  slipped,  unobserved,  upon  the 
Duchess's  ringer  the  jewelled  ring  the 
King  had  given  to  Almahyde  among  the 
roses  at  the  performance  of  "  Granada." 

"Yes!  Yes!  'Tis  my  only  chance,"  she 
answered,  catching  at  his  meaning;  for 
her  wits  were  of  the  sharpest  in  intrigue 
and  cunning,  and  she  possessed  the  bold- 

[  3°5  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


ness  too  to  execute  her  plans. 

She  approached  the  King,  with  the 
confident  air  possessed  by  great  women 
who  have  been  bred  at  court. 

"Your  Majesty  recognizes  this  ring?" 
she  asked  in  mildest  accents. 

"The  one  I  gave  to  Nell!"  answered 
the  astonished  King. 

"  The  one  Adair  this  night  gave  to  me," 
said  Portsmouth,  calmly. 

"Tis  false! "cried  Nell,  who  could 
restrain  her  tongue  no  longer.  "  I  gave 
that  ring  to  dear  old  Strings." 

"A  rare  jewel  to  bestow  upon  a  fid 
dler,"  said  the  Duchess,  sarcastically. 

"It  is  true,"  said  Strings,  who  had 
wormed  his  way  through  the  group  at 
mention  of  his  name  and  now  stood  the 
meek  central  figure  at  the  strange  hear 
ing.  "  My  little  ones  were  starving,  Sire; 
and  Nell  gave  me  the  ring — all  she  had. 
They  could  not  eat  the  gold;  so  I  sold  it 
to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham!" 

"We  are  lost,"  whispered  Buckingham 
to  Portsmouth,  scarce  audibly. 

"Coward!"  sneered  the  Duchess,  con- 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  'Time 

temptuously.  "  I  am  not  ready  to  sail  for 
France  so  soon." 

The  King  stood  irresolute.  Events  had 
transpired  so  quickly  that  he  scarce  knew 
what  it  was  best  to  do.  His  troubled  spirit 
longed  for  a  further  hearing,  while  his 
heart  demanded  the  ending  of  the  scene 
with  a  peremptory  word. 

Before  he  could  decide  upon  his  course, 
the  Duchess  had  swept  across  the  room, 
with  queenly  grace. 

"  Our  hostess  will  pardon  my  eyes  for 
wandering,'*  she  said,  undaunted;  "but 
her  abode  is  filled  with  pleasant  surprises. 
Sire,  here  is  a  piece  of  handiwork." 

She  knelt  by  the  couch,  and  drew  from 
under  it  a  coat  of  gray,  one  sleeve  of  which 
had  caught  her  eye. 

Nell  looked  at  Moll  with  reproving 
glances. 

"  Marry,  'tis  Strings's,  of'course,"  con 
tinued  Portsmouth,  dangling  the  coat  be 
fore  the  wondering  eyes  of  all. "  The  lace, 
the  ruffle,  becomes  his  complexion.  He 
fits  everything  here  so  beautifully." 

As  she  turned  the  garment  slowly  about, 

[  3°7  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


she  caught  sight  of  a  package  of  papers 
protruding  from  its  inner  pocket,  sealed 
with  her  own  seal.  For  the  first  time,  the 
significance  of  the  colour  of  the  coat  came 
home  to  her. 

" Mon  Dieu"  she  cried,  " Adair's  coat. 
— The  packet!" 

Her  fingers  sought  the  papers  eagerly; 
but  Nell's  eye  and  hand  were  too  quick  for 
her. 

"  Not  so  fast,  dear  Duchess,"  said  Nell, 
sweetly,  passing  the  little  packet  to  his 
Majesty.  "  Our  King  must  read  these  pa 
pers —  and  between  the  lines  as  well." 

"Enough  of  this !  "commanded  Charles. 
"What  is  it?" 

"  Some  papers,  Sire,"  said  Nell,  point 
edly,  "  given  for  a  kiss  and  taken  with  a 
kiss.  I  have  not  had  time  to  read  them." 

"Some  family  papers,  Sire,"  asserted 
the  Duchess,  with  assumed  indifference, 
"stolen  from  my  house." 

She  would  have  taken  them  from  his 
Majesty,  so  great,  indeed,  was  her  bold 
ness;  but  Nell  again  stayed  her. 

"Aye,  stolen,"  said  Nell,  sharply;  "but 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

by  the  hostess  herself — from  her  unsus 
pecting,  royal  guest.  There,  Sire,  stands 
the  only  thief!"  She  pointed  accusingly 
at  Portsmouth. 

"My  signature!"  cried  Charles,  as  he 
ran  his  eye  down  a  parchment.  "The 
treaties!  No  more  Parliaments  for  Eng 
land.  I  agreed  to  that." 

"I  agree  to  that  myself,"  said  Nell,  rogu 
ishly.  "England's  King  is  too  great  to  need 
Parliaments.  The  King  should  have  a  con 
fidential  adviser,  however — not  French," 
and  she  cast  a  defiant  glance  at  Ports 
mouth,  "but  English.  Read  on;  read  on." 

She  placed  her  pretty  cheek  as  near  as 
possible  to  the  King's  as  she  followed  the 
letters  over  his  shoulder. 

"  A  note  to  Bouillon ! "  he  said,  perus 
ing  the  parchmentsfurther. "  Charles  con 
sents  to  the  fall  of  Luxembourg.  I  did  not 
sign  all  this.  I  see  it  all:  Louis's  ambition 
to  rule  the  world,  England's  King  debased 
by  promises  won  and  royal  contracts  made 
with  a  clever  woman — forgery  mixed 
with  truth.  Sweet  Heaven,  what  have  I 
done!" 

[  3°9  ] 


Mistress  Nell 


"The  papers  have  not  gone,  Sire," 
blandly  remarked  Nell. 

"Thanks  to  you,  my  Nell,"  said  Charles. 
He  addressed  Portsmouth  sharply:  "  Ma 
dame,  your  coach  awaits  you." 

"But,  Sire,"  replied  the  Duchess,  who 
was  brave  to  the  last,  "Madame  Gwyn 
has  yet  Adair  to  answer  for!" 

"  Adair  will  answer  for  himself! "  cried 
Nell,  triumphantly. 

She  threw  aside  the  pink  gown  and 
stood  as  Adair  before  the  astonished  eyes 
of  all. 

"At  your  service,"  she  said,  bowing 
sweetly  to  the  Duchess. 

"A  player's  trick!  "  cried  Portsmouth, 
haughtily,  as  a  parting  shot  of  contempt. 

"Yes,  Portsmouth,"  replied  Nell,  still 
in  sweetest  accents,  "to  show  where  lies 
the  true  and  where  the  false." 

"You  are  a  witch,"  hissed  Portsmouth. 

"You  are  the  King's  true  love,"  ex 
claimed  the  Merry  Monarch.  "To  my 
arms,  Nell,  to  my  arms;  for  you  first 
taught  me  the  meaning  of  true  love! 
Buckingham,  you  forget  your  courtesy. 

[  310  ] 


A  Merry  'Tale  of  a  Merry  Time 

Her  grace  wishes  to  be  escorted  to  her 
coach." 

"  Eon  voyage,  madame,"  said  Nell,  de 
murely,  as  the  Duchess  took  Bucking 
ham's  arm  and  departed. 

The  King's  eyes  fell  upon  the  player, 
Hart,  who  was  still  in  custody. 

"Away  with  this  wretch!"  he  cried, 
incensed  at  his  conduct.  "  I  am  not  done 
with  him." 

"  Forgive  him,  Sire,"  interceded  Nell. 
"  He  took  his  cue  from  Heaven,  and  good 
has  come  of  it." 

"  True,  Nell,"  said  the  King,  merci 
fully.  Then  he  turned  to  Hart:  "You  are 
free;  but  henceforth  adl  the  knave  only 
on  the  stage."  Hart  bowed  with  shame 
and  withdrew. 

"Sire,  Sire,"  exclaimed  Strings,  for 
getting  his  decorum  in  his  eagerness. 

"Well,  Strings?"  inquired  the  King, 
good-humouredly;  for  there  was  now  no 
cloud  in  his  sky. 

"  Let  me  play  the  exit  for  the  villains? " 
he  pleaded  unctuously.  "The  old  fiddle 
is  just  bursting  with  tunes." 

[  3"   1 


Mistress  Nell 


"You  shall,  Strings,"  replied  his  Maj 
esty,  "and  on  a  Cremona.  From  to-day, 
you  lead  the  royal  orchestra." 

"  Odsbud,"  cried  Strings,  gleefully,  "  I 
can  offer  Jack  Hart  an  engagement." 

"Just  retribution,  Strings,"  laughed 
Nell,  happily.  "  Can  you  do  as  much  for 
Nell,  and  forgive  her,  Sire?" 

"It  is  I  who  should  ask  your  pardon, 
Nell,"  exclaimed  the  King,  ecstatically, 
throwing  both  arms  passionately  about 
her. "  You  are  Charles's  queen ;  you  should 
be  England's." 

So  the  story  ends,  as  all  good  stories  should,  in  a 
•perfect,  unbroken  dream  of  love. 


=  •         »• 

EPILOGUE 

Spoken  by  Miss  Crosman  for  the  first  time  in 
New  York  at  the  Bijou  Theatre  on  the  evening 
of  Oftober  9,  1900: 

GOOD  friends,  before  we  end  the  play, 
I  beg  you  all  a  moment  stay : 
I  warn  my  sex,  by  Nell's  affair, 
Against  a  rascal  called  Adair  ! 

If  lovers'  hearts  you  *d  truly  scan, 
Odsfish,  perk  up,  and  be  a  man  ! 


24710 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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